


I'm yours 'til they come

by sepherim_ml



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU (Season 1), Angel Dean Winchester, Fallen Castiel, M/M, Michael!Dean, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepherim_ml/pseuds/sepherim_ml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a hunt, Dean lost consciousness near Pontiac. Castiel, a skittish townie librarian, saves him and he offers Dean his house and his hospitality. For weeks they share some kind of blissful domesticity, until Castiel is being made the target of weird angels' "attacks". Unfortunately, this is just the beginning of their problems: among John's disappearing, Jess' death, Sam's animosity and an incumbent apocalypse, everything, including their beliefs, are brought into question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Dean/Cas Big Bang 2011.

**Prologue**  
  
  
“Come on,” Dean whispers to himself disbelievingly. “I can't die here!”  
  
Dean tries to get up bracing himself on his right arm, but the pain in his shoulder becomes unbearable and, despite his good intentions, he let himself fall again on the ground, with a last disappointed sigh.  
  
He squeezes his eyes, trying to see something beyond the blurring fog in his mind which keeps him from thinking straight.  
  
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”  
  
Dean closes his eyes, trying to regain enough strength to try to get up again. He brings a hand to his hurt shoulder, leaving it a few inches from the skin before touching it with tenderness. His sleeve is soaking with blood and the flesh is torn apart in the area where the damn son of a bitch of a demon has bitten him hard. Dean tries to cheer himself up, thinking that, at least, he wasn't been bitten by a werewolf, even if the wound hurts like a bitch.  
  
A rustling noise distracts him, his free hand automatically searching for his knife, but in the confusion of the pain everything is so blurred that even the most automatic gesture seems too difficult to manage.  
  
Dean thinks about his dad, how he would be disappointed in seeing his firstborn knocked down by a stupid wendigo without any possibility to kill that damn thing or at least defend himself. His dad sent him there because he thought Dean was capable of handling a simple solo hunt, but all he gets in return is Dean on the ground with a useless arm, a mind drunk with pain and a probable enemy approaching to finish the work of the wendigo. Maybe it is the wendigo itself.  
  
Dean couldn’t avoid letting out a long moan of pain, before he bits his bottom lip bloody, resisting the temptation of showing how deeply he is affected by the injury. Damn, this is going to be pointless. He can’t even get up in his own feet, for crying out loud! Dad is going to be pissed… even more pissed than he is now.  
  
His mind inevitably goes to Sam, his little brother. He was right in the end, his last goodbye, full of bitterness, was directed to Dean, and it was something along the lines “you are exactly like _him!_ “, well, Dean is nothing like  _him_ , their father, because their dad hasn’t had any kind of trouble in hunting. He got hurt, of course, countless times, but he always managed to get out of any kind of desperate situation. Dean is a completely different story, though.  
  
Not even Sammy got involved in more troubles than another when he hunted with them. Dean always had the capacity to end up dirty every time he was cleaning up messes.  
  
Sam can tell himself the little stories that Dean and John are identical, but, it is the complete opposite.  
  
He didn’t really blame him for choosing to get away from dangers and ghosts and witches and vampires, but Dean couldn’t stand the fact that Sam got away from his family. It was John who, as always, took things personally, it was him who gave Sammy the ultimatum, but Sam, just like John did, took the ultimatum personally, and walked away from his family.  
  
Then there they are, one in Stanford with his perfectly normal life who has never contacted Dean once, the other away somewhere in his endless search, and Dean? Well, Dean is on the ground, dying far from both of them.  
  
The rustling noise approaches, followed by a series of hurried steps.  
  
Dean clenches his left fist around the soil that surrounded him, he tries to gather enough strength to throw the soil in the face of the monster. It wouldn’t give him much time, but, most likely, it would let him gain few seconds to get up and try to run away. He let a pain yelp escape from his mouth, trying to look as harmless as possible, still and waiting, until the steps get closer.  
  
Then Dean opens his eyes and throws the soil, hoping to hit the fucking monster right on the face.  
  
“Easy…”  
  
He has some problems in distinguishing the pink and black confused mess that is over him among the fog of the blood loss and the darkness, but finally he spots a face with human appearance.  
  
 _It_  is human with gentle features, dark hair and the bluest eyes Dean have ever seen.  
  
Just for safety, he whispers a “Christo” between his teeth, but the man doesn’t seem affected by those words and he kneels besides him, his forehead crinkled in a worried frown.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Dean has the strength to let out a snort and he manages to ask, annoyed: “What you do think, Sherlock?”  
  
The stranger doesn’t answer, his eyes leave his face, traveling along his body, checking the wounds, then they widen, unsure and preoccupied.  
  
“Can you get up? I need to take you to the hospital.”  
  
“No hospitals,” Dean mumbles, feeling the appealing desire to close his eyes and let the darkness take him for a nap. He will get better afterwards, he is sure. Just a few minutes of relaxation. “hate ‘pitals…”  
  
The other man shakes his head and place a hand over Dean’s forehead.  
  
“Don’t talk, save your energy.”  
  
Dean fights very hard to reply, to say something along the lines ‘don’t you act all expert on me, Clarence, I can perfectly kick your ass!’, but he feels completely drained. The last thing he hears before drifting into unconsciousness are the words of the other man, calm and steady, that reassured him.  
  
“Don’t worry, it’s going be all right. I am by your side.”   



	2. Chapter 2

Jasmine.  
  
The first thing Dean is aware of is the sweet perfume of the jasmine flowing through his nostrils.  
  
His mother loved jasmine, and every time Dean smells that perfume he can't avoid thinking of his mother, her warm smile, the way she wrapped him in her arms, her soft kisses on his cheeks...  
  
It made Dean remember the day he fell on the ground while playing with his little machines.  
  
It was a little before her death, when Sammy was four or five months old and Dean was little, but old enough to take his duty as a big brother seriously, and thinking that he should be more mature instead of behaving like a little kid. So, when he fell on the ground and his arm scraped against the fence, he went to his mommy trying not to cry. He stood in front of her, with his forearm hurt as the blood started to spill, but with his teeth gritted in determination.  
  
His mother immediately looked at the wound with a worried look upon her face. When she began to disinfect, she looked at him with a warm smile and with so much love in her eyes that Dean started crying, even if he tried to avoid it with all his strength.  
  
She shushed him, hugging him, and Dean smelled the jasmine perfume, sweet and light, as he felt protected against all the pains in the world.  
  
Then, in that fading memory, Mary looks up at him, she grabs his arm with both hands and whispers, with the same, lovingly smile.  
  
 _Wake up, son. Great things wait for you_ .  
  
  
  
Dean opens his eyes.  
  
Obviously, there are no jasmine in the room, as he checks immediately with suspicious eyes. His gaze travels over the white ceiling and onto his bed, he stops when he sees the bandage wound around his right arm.  
  
Dean groans.  
  
He is in a damn hospital room.  
  
He is been hospitalized, with his right arm fully bandaged, and, judging from the difficulty in thinking straight, he is on painkillers. He hates painkillers, they make him feel like a damn idiot.  
  
Dean sits up with slow and calculated movements, trying not to strain his shoulder. He needs to get well enough to drive himself out of that fucking town.  
  
“You shouldn’t move until the doctor say so.”  
  
Dean’s head snaps up towards the source of the noise; a man is standing on the doorway, wearing a trench coat that makes him resemble to an accountant. He is bringing a cup of take away coffee in his hands, and that smell banishes every other thoughts Dean is having about unreal jasmine.  
  
“Who the hell are you?” he barks.  
  
“I'm Castiel.”  
  
“Cas-what?”  
  
“Castiel,” the man repeats slowly. “A strange name, I know. Not so common.”  
  
Dean barks a small laugh, amused. Not-so-common? “Your name have some kind of biblical vibe, dude!”  
  
Castiel tilts his head to the right. For an average person that gesture is similar to confusion, but at that moment, Dean has the impression that Castiel seems pleased by his reply.  
  
“Actually, I was named after the Angel of Thursday.”  
  
 _Ah._  
  
“Your parents are nuts. No offense, dude.”  
  
“None taken,” Castiel sits down on the chair besides Dean and blows over his hot coffee. He mentally weights the matter, then he feels he owes some explanations. “My father was a pastor, anyway. It's kind good omen, I guess.”  
  
Dean straightens up, trying to find a comfortable position before having a hell of a backache. It is strange, being there, in that small hospital room, with a stranger who is sitting on the chair besides his bed, looking at him without moving a finger, but following his gestures with attentive eyes. Dean starts to feel uneasy, being unable to do anything else than waiting for the doctor and, in the meantime, being subject of Castiel's stare.  
  
Dean didn't pass much time in hospitals: usually, his father and he preferred to patch their wounds by themselves, or, if they were being hospitalized, they play the caring-and-capable-father-and-son, keeping each other out of the hospitals. Today, Dean gets the worst nurse in the world, with those big, blue eyes and the stubbornness of a Winchester.  
  
“I was wondering what your name is…”  
  
Dean touches his chest, looking for his wallet. He doesn’t find it, of course, since he doesn’t have his jacket with him. Then, a curious fact hits Dean: Castiel brought him to the hospital, and, for checking him in he needed to fill forms and look for his insurance. He had probably searched in his pocket and looked in his wallet for ID and he probably found...  
  
“Your real name,” Castiel adds, erasing any Dean’s doubts.  
  
Dean's head snaps up, on guard, his whole body ready to attack the other man. “You looked in my wallet.”  
  
Castiel nods. “There is a lot of interesting stuff there.”  
  
If for  _interesting stuff_  Castiel means several IDs, a lot of stolen credit cards, then yes, Dean can call himself a very interesting person. The wallet contains just one ID, but Dean has a couple of other IDs that he used in the last hunt.  
  
“Who gave you the right -?”  
  
Castiel arches an eyebrow. “I found you almost dead in the woods, there wasn't any other person to ask for permission.”  
  
“You shouldn-”  
  
“I don't care what you are up to,” Castiel interrupts him, and he is so damn calm that makes Dean appear like a whiny chick for worrying over nothing. Sure, Castiel is a freak. How can someone be so freaking calm about all of this? Dean could be anyone, anything – a serial killer, a mercenary -, and Castiel doesn’t budge. “I care for your well being. Just tell me, out of curiosity, Dean is your real name? It feels awkward not knowing what I can call you.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes and nods slowly.  
  
“Ok, so you're Dean. Carter is your real surname?”  
  
“It's not.”  
  
Castiel acknowledges the information with a little nod, he takes a sip of his coffee. “I picked up Dean Carter's ID.”  
  
Dean snorts. “You don’t say. You really don't want to know what I was doing in the woods?”  
  
“If you want to, you can give me some explanation, anytime. For now, you can keep your secrets to yourself.”  
  
“I'm not planning to stay here, I don't need a buddy.”  
  
Castiel shrugs. “You can’t say. Your rehabilitation may take some time.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Dean readjusts himself against the pillow. “Hey, don't you have a home?”  
  
“Am I bothering you?” Castiel asks. “I was thinking that, since you are alone, and I don't have anyone waiting for me at my place... I can stay there.” He fidgets, and for the first time Dean sees him unsure of what to do, instead of unnaturally calm and collected like he used to be. “I found you, after all.”  
  
“You didn't sign a contract for being my babysitter,” replies Dean. “You can go, I'm twenty-six and I'm more than capable of dealing with a doctor.”  
  
“You are clearly used to doing things all by yourself, but I'm staying.”  
  
“Listen, dude, maybe you don't quite get it, but I don't need you here.”  
  
After a few seconds of silence, Castiel repeats stubbornly. “I'm staying.”  
  
The doctor arrives just in that moment, followed by a nurse in her mid-forties. Crap, Dean groans. There aren't even decent, young and busty nurses in that damn city. Pontiac is the most boring city in the world, for sure.  
  
At their arrival, Castiel stands up and puts the coffee on the nightstand near Dean. He acts like he gives a crap about Dean, like he is a relative or a friend, and the doctor is clearly part of the entire picture, because he doesn’t lecture him being there even if he isn’t a family member.  
  
“Mr. Carter,” begins the doctor. “Are you feeling better?”  
  
“Better than what? Bleeding to death? Yeah, I’m peachy.”  
  
“You've been treating for a major blood loss, severe wounds at your right arm and a concussion...”  
  
Dean interjects him, impatiently: “I'm discharged, right?”  
  
“I doubt that, Mr. Carter. Your concussion-”  
  
“Come on, a concussion isn't serious! I can take care of myself without problems. Just sign the discharge papers.”  
  
The doctor frowns, closing the folder and looking at Dean with disapproval: “A concussion  _is_  a serious matter, Mr. Carter. It is necessary for you to rest and have someone by your side.”  
  
“I have my father.”  
  
“Then where is he?”  
  
Dean doesn't hesitate. “He works in Cincinnati. He can be here in a few days.”  
  
“In the meantime, don't you have any nearer relatives? You have to take medications for your right arm, Mr. Carter, you can't do it all alone, and you can't certainly being capable of dealing with a concussion, too.”  
  
Oh, yeah? It isn't the first concussion Dean has to deal with. Okay, usually he had Bobby's support, because John was never been very patient with his son's wounds and every time Dean got hurt, it was likely that John dropped him off to Bobby or Pastor Jim for the rehabilitation.  
  
“Listen, doc, I can do all of this. Outside the hospital. So, sign the damn papers and let me be.”  
  
“I highly discourage you-”  
  
“I can do it.”  
  
Castiel's reply catches the attention of everybody in that room. Dean looks at him startled, taken aback by Castiel's proposal.  
  
“I can take care of Dean, while he is waiting for his father's arrival,” Castiel adds with a quiet tone, like it’s customary opening his house to strangers with double identities.  
  
“You don't have to do that,” says Dean. “We don't even know each other.”  
  
Castiel darts his gaze from the doctor to Dean's face. “It's for a couple of days, Dean.”  
  
Dean tries very hard to understand why Castiel is so determined to help a stranger, willing to let him in in his house and his life. It is for some weird Christian rule? Give a home to an homeless, give support to a needy guy, being a Good Samaritan?  
  
Anyway, Castiel is the only option Dean has. He is his ticket to the outside, and Dean has every intention of taking advantage of this.  
  
He just needs the doctor's signature, and then he could go for his way, without Castiel's help.  
  
He turns to the doctor with a smug grin of his face: “So? I'm dismissed, right?”  
  
  
*  
  
  
Castiel is quite surprised with his own proposal, but he tries not to let this be noticed from the others occupants in the room. His common sense hits him in the moment in which Dean and he were heading for the way out, when Castiel comes to the sudden realization that he needs to call a taxi to going back home.  
  
He looks at Dean’s back, suspecting how hard he is trying to walk straight despite the pain killers and the dizziness he must feel. He didn’t want to hear anything about staying overnight; he just proclaims that he wanted to be out of the hospital as soon as possible. Castiel talked to the doctor and signed the paper, but it is just now, in the cool air of the night that he finally asks himself why he let a stranger walk in his house.  
  
After all, Castiel found Dean. He found him on his way home and he feels like he is his responsibility.  
  
For a moment, Castiel thinks about his father, and how he repeated that when God puts something in the way, there’s always a reason. Funny, Dean may be the reason why his father would have been proud of Castiel, for once.  
  
Castiel chases away that thought, and looks at Dean. He didn’t notice before, but Dean has started to take the bandages off from his arm.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Dean doesn't even give him a glance, completely focused in his poor attempts. “Listen, I appreciated your help back there, and I don’t know why you offered your help so keenly… but there’s no point in considering your gesture due to Christian charity other than naivety or stupidity. You probably offered your help in the heat of the moment and you are rethinking it now. You let me be free from another hour in that hospital, but now we can take different paths. It was nice knowing you.”  
  
Castiel stops him before he could move away: “Dean, I don't regret my decision. You need my help and I'm more than happy to give my assistance.”  
  
Dean looks at him suspiciously, with his green eyes full of distrust. He can’t really blame him, though, Castiel himself feels a little too bold in proposing his help, but there is something about Dean that make him trust that Dean is a good man, even if he has a wallet full of IDs. Castiel is not a trusting person, he is usually diffident and reserved, so his invitation sounds stranger in his own ears.  
  
“With all due respect, Mr. Good Samaritan, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”  
  
Castiel's forehead frowns: “What are you intending to do, then?”  
  
“First of all, I need to retrieve my car. Then, I can get in and say bye-bye to Pontiac.”  
  
“You are not capable of driving.”  
  
Dean looks at his arm: “Not with this bandages... that’s why I’m taking them off, and then I'll drive out of town.”  
  
Castiel looks at him with horror, shocked about Dean’s reckless idea. There is no possibility that Dean is serious about this. “You aren't serious.”  
  
“Deadly serious.”  
  
“If you take off your bandages you'll have serious problems in healing. It can only get worse.”  
  
“As I said before: thanks but no, thank you." He is in the verge of going away but Castiel stops him by gripping his sleeve.  
  
“I can't let you doing this. You need help, and I am more than okay in helping you.”  
  
Castiel's blue eyes plead with him and for some reason Dean has problems in saying ‘no’ another time. He isn't accustomed to having someone to take care of him, who fights the good fight for him. Dean is always the one who wants to take care of people - of dad, of Sam. He is used to helping people get out of supernatural troubles, but nobody had show so much interest in helping  _him._  
  
“Trust me, Dean.”  
  
For some mysterious reason, Dean does.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Castiel's house is small with a little corner garden in the front, on the outskirts of the city. Typical stepford life. He doesn't have a car - which is completely nuts, Dean thought - and he travels sometimes by bicycle or by foot. He works in a library in the center of Pontiac, so there is not a great distance between Castiel’s house and his workplace.  
  
Dean fusses over his baby the whole way from the hospital to Castiel’s place. He tried to convince Castiel to let him drive the Impala to his house at least, but Castiel was determined and he called a breakdown van to take care of everything. Castiel could be kind all the wants, but Dean has no intentions of letting his car out of sight, parked near the woods. Dean refused to calm down until his Impala was safe and unharmed in Castiel's driveway.  
  
Castiel doesn’t have a guest room for Dean, so it was necessary to set up a bed on the couch in the living room.  
  
“You can't be serious.”  
  
Castiel brought sheets, blanket and a pillow for the couch from upstairs, and Dean is looking at him with disbelieving eyes as Castiel starts preparing the couch for the night. The other man turns his head towards Dean, with the same, collected expression.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You invited me in and you didn't have a spare bedroom?”  
  
“Don't worry,” Castiel says, busy fixing the couch. “I will sleep here, you can have my bedroom.”  
  
Dean runs a hand over his face. This has to be a joke, for sure. Or a nightmare. “No way. I'll sleep here. End of the story.”  
  
“You are hurt.”  
  
“This is your home.”  
  
“You are hurt, Dean,” Castiel repeats, with a trace of annoyance in his voice. “You need to sleep in a bed. Comfortable.”  
  
Dean crosses the room and sat on the couch, right where Castiel is arranging the sheets. The other sighs heavily, but he doesn’t bulge, he remains bent over, with the sheet half put in place, facing Dean seated on the couch and preventing him any kind of movement.  
  
They stare to each other intensely, and Dean has to force himself from fidgeting and losing that staring battle. In the end, he feels so uncomfortable that he has to end it anyway, because Castiel seems to have no problem in staring from here to the eternity.  
  
“Listen,” Dean begins. “I'm used to sleeping in worse places, and this is your house. If you don't let me use this couch I walk out the door, I’ll go retrieve my baby by myself, and then we will be out of there in a minute.”  
  
Castiel frowns: “Your baby?”  
  
“The Impala, my car,” Dean looks at him, with the most serious expression he could think of. Because, really, dad could be scary, but Castiel, with his open expression, his big blue eyes, he could be as scary as his dad. Dean is used to manipulating and lying to people, but he is not used to being the subject of attention, especially from a stranger so determined to take care of him. “I won't move.”  
  
It is clear that Castiel is thinking that Dean is completely nuts. After some awkward seconds, Castiel gives up, and he clearly doesn’t like it, if the displeased expression upon his face is a sign. “Well, then. Can I prepare the couch at least?”  
  
Dean gives him a cocky grin and stands up. “It is nice doing business with you.”  
  
  
*  
  
  
Dean was woken up by the smell of coffee and pancakes. He tries to sit up, but he is hit by a terrible dizziness that forces him to take some time to readjust himself. Blood loss. Great.  
  
He passes a hand over his forehead, trying to remember where he is. The events of the day before comes up in his mind: wendigo, hospital, a lot of painkillers, Mr. Stubborn Blue Eyes, unknown house, couch. Castiel. Oh, yeah, Castiel, the name of the creepy landlord, the one who practically kidnapped Dean.  
  
Dean sits up slowly, fighting the fogginess of his mind. He looks around at the cozy room: in front of the couch there is a little table and an old TV, a whole wall is covered by shelves of books, all tidied up by color and size – which is kinda of freaky – while at the opposite side there is a window with light blue curtains. Dean is in the house of a bookworm. A hot bookworm.  
  
He shakes his head, blaming his nonsense thoughts to the effect of the painkillers. He stands up and he goes to relieve himself in the small bathroom. When he comes out, the smell of coffee is too appealing and he follows the noises and smell.  
  
When he enters in the kitchen, Dean stops in his tracks. Castiel is puttering in front of the stove, cooking. He is dressed in his suit, but he also has an apron, and the scene reeks so much of domesticity that Dean is tempted to take off just out of principle.  
  
“Good morning Dean,” Castiel welcomes him as soon as he is aware of his presence. “I didn’t know what you usually eat for breakfast. Pancakes are okay?”  
  
Dean leans on the door frame. “Listen, dude, this is not necessary, you already gave me your couch.”  
  
“- and? Would you prefer being starved to death?” Castiel asks. He doesn’t avert his eyes from the stove, but he shoots a side glance look to Dean. He has a teasing sparkle in his eyes, and he isn’t stiff or alert, even if he doesn’t really know Dean. He can be with a serial killer, and Castiel doesn’t know. Dude is a freak, no doubt. “I already told you that I will give you assistance.”  
  
“I didn’t ask you to be my babysitter.”  
  
“You have to recover your strength, Dean,” continues Castiel without giving sign of hearing Dean’s muttered comment. “Don’t you want to return to your business as soon as possible?”  
  
“Damn straight I want.”  
  
“Then let me help you,” finishes Castiel with an amused smile dancing on his lips. He put the pancakes on Dean’s plate, and Dean doesn’t even think to refuse, now that he has them under his nose. He sits down and grabs the fork with his left hand, damn, the pancakes are even perfectly round.  
  
Without looking away from his fantastic pancakes, Dean asks. “Why are you doing all of this for me?”  
  
Castiel doesn’t answer, so Dean has to tear away his eyes from his plate. “Dude?”  
  
The other one thinks over a little while, then he simply answers. “I feel like I have to.”  
  
As Dean arches an eyebrow, Castiel continues. “My father used to say that God places people in our way, and it is our duty as good Christians to help them,” he turns his back at him, starting to fill up his own plate. “But I didn’t do it for him, I  _felt_  like I have to. I found you and I wanted to help you, and before you can ask me, yes, I can trust you in my house because I can recognize a good man when I meet one.”  
  
Dean shakes his head, biting back the sarcastic reply he just came to. The dude is helping him, and it wouldn’t be very nice if Dean started to bite his hand. He can just take it, end of the story. He grabs his fork and starts eating his pancakes, while Castiel sits beside him.  
  
“Delicious!” Dean says with his mouth full. “Dude, these are awesome!”  
  
Castiel nods at the compliment. “Wait until you taste my apple pie.”  
  
Dean’s eyes immediately perk up. “Apple pie?”  
  
“I’m pretty good at cooking,” Castiel gives as an explanation.  
  
Dean points the fork at him, while he swallows another bite of pancake. “Bake me an apple pie and let me be the judge of that.”  
  
“Castiel!”  
  
Castiel's laugh ends abruptly, as the front door opens and a voice calls for him. Dean is immediately alert, ready for any immediate danger.  
  
“In the kitchen, Jimmy!”  
  
A man who looked exactly like Castiel appears in the doorway. If Dean takes Castiel as an accountant – and he got it wrong – Jimmy  _has_  to be an accountant, with his suit, his perfect tie and his briefcase. He is pretty much identical to Castiel, but he is distinctly very different from him, with his blue eyes full of distrust and annoyance. Jimmy sighs heavily, like he is disappointed in Castiel for some reason, and, as soon as he takes a better look at Dean, his expression changes from cautious to open dislike.  
  
“Castiel...” Jimmy crosses the kitchen slowly. “Who is he?” He asks with a whisper, like Dean is somewhat dirty.  
  
Castiel stiffens: “He is Dean. He is staying here for a few days.”  
  
“Yo, Jimmy.”  
  
“You two are...”  
  
“We’re not,” Castiel hurries to deny. He stands up, and gives to his brother a wary expression. He is challenging him to do something, and Jimmy stiffens. He is feeling threatened by something in Castiel, but Dean doesn’t get it. “I found Dean wounded, yesterday. He needs some assistance.”  
  
Jimmy frowns, but he seems to calm himself, he casts a glance over Dean’s wounds, then looks at his brother again. “Can I speak to you in private, Castiel?”  
  
“There is nothing to talk about,” he replies. “I met Dean yesterday and he needed a place to crash. There's nothing further to say.”  
  
The words come out from his mouth a little rough, and Dean tries to understand what it is going on between the twins. That makes him remember when he and Sam had their own language to communicate and to cast their father out. John was too damn perceptive of everything, but Dean and Sam developed a whole alphabet of signs, glances and winks to communicate to each other when dad was around. Jimmy and Castiel were replaying some conversation they’ve already have in the past, and apparently Jimmy was the one who got the last word. Castiel isn’t so inclined to let him have it again today.  
  
Jimmy seems to calm himself, he stretches his hand to Dean: “I'm Jimmy, Castiel's brother. I can give you a lift to the nearest hotel, if you want.”  
  
“Dean is staying here,” Castiel repeats.  
  
“Castiel –” Jimmy begins with a steady voice, “maybe we need to talk.”  
  
“We don’t.”  
  
“I’m sure Dean doesn’t want to be associated with you,” Jimmy whispers. “No one wants that.”  
  
Castiel opens his mouth, but Dean forestalls him: “Whoa, listen, I know that Castiel is your brother and shit, but cut the guy some slack, okay?”  
  
Jimmy turns to him. “I’m sure you can get all the assistance you need from the hospital, if you don’t want to go in a hotel.”  
  
“I’m staying here, Jimmy, it’s pretty comfy,” Dean replies, just to piss him off.  
  
“You can’t stay here, or people will...”  
  
Castiel slams a hand on the table. “Dean is staying here as long as he needs to, and we don’t care about what people think. You’re going to be late for work, Jimmy, it’s better for you to go.”  
  
Jimmy clenches his fists, he gives to them a disgusted look and walks away. He storms out banging the door, without even say a goodbye, and Dean settles back on his chair. “What’s wrong with him?”  
  
Castiel shudders, he puts his hands in his pockets, like a kid who knows that he made a mistake. He is biting his bottom lip, nervous, and maybe a little bit ashamed of Jimmy. “We… we have some disagreements.”  
  
“Could've fooled me.”  
  
“We still have,” he continues. “He is not very happy with my choices.”  
  
“Brothers have to stick for each other.”  
  
“We were close, in the past,” confesses Castiel. “But then everything changed. It was my fault, nonetheless, I was the one who changed. He is simply standing up for what he is thinking is right.”  
  
“Right?”  
  
Castiel turns his head to Dean. “I'm gay, Dean. And my family is very religious, you can do the math.”  
  
Dean shifts in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. Now he understands Jimmy’s reaction and his eagerness to see him out of Cas’ house. He doesn’t want the neighbors to think that they are a couple. Such a prick.  
  
“Are you gay, Dean?”  
  
“No, I'm not.”  
  
“If you were, how do you think your family react to your coming out?”  
  
“There's nothing wrong in being gay,” mumbles Dean, smartly avoiding answering. His father will probably think that Dean is doing something to disappoint him, again, and Sam… well, Sam wouldn't probably know anything about this, because, as he promptly yelled at Dean, he is  _out_  of the family, and Dean is not his business anymore.  
  
“I know,” Castiel says, with a little smile dancing on his lips. “But my family doesn't think the same thing. I didn't talk to my parents since I came out, and years after their deaths, I can't even stand in front of their graves. It's like I sense their disapproval, even if they are six feet under.”  
  
“Your brother?”  
  
“Jimmy is... Jimmy thinks about me as a sick person. It’s his mission to redeem and cure me,” Castiel grits his teeth for a moment before letting his face to relax, he seems perfectly okay with that, neither angry nor annoyed. Just used to it. “He doesn't get me.”  
  
“So... before, when he saw us having breakfast, he assumed...”  
  
“That we are together, and you are my... sick partner,” then Castiel rushes to reassure him. “Don't worry, Dean. I think he understood that you aren't like me. He is a little... narrow minded.”  
  
Dean let go a dry laugh. “A little? Cas, I don't care what your brother thinks of me! He is a selfish prick who doesn't give a damn about you!” Castiel starts but Dean doesn’t apologize for his offensive words. Family sticks by each other, no matter what, and after all Castiel did for him, it wasn't fair being treated like that. “He's a dick.”  
  
“Maybe, but he is still my brother.”  
  
“Yeah, I know the feeling.”  
  
Castiel stares at him, waiting for some clarification or an explanation, but Dean doesn’t have the intention of giving him anything, not now, at least. There is too much on his plate, and Dean can’t share his dysfunctional life with Castiel: he is just a guy too naive for his own good, but he is a good guy. That is a scary thought, because Dean could always start to consider Castiel interesting. Or at least enough interesting to be considered as a friend, and Dean doesn’t have friends outside his family.  
  
He rubs the back of his neck, unsure how to end that embarrassing caring-and-sharing-moment, but Castiel cuts him off, starting to eat his breakfast again, and the discussion is over.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Living with Castiel is nothing Dean ever expected.  
  
Dean didn’t have a home since he was a little kid, and he is convinced that he isn’t used to living within four walls anymore. He is used to driving around with his father or crashing in motels, so he was deeply convinced that he couldn’t stand being at Castiel’s place. It turns out that he was wrong, because, even if he didn’t do anything apart from wandering in the kitchen, checking on his baby and reading newspapers and internet articles searching for supernatural hunts, he starts to think about Castiel’s home as a kind of familiar place. A home.  
  
He doesn’t realize it until one evening, when he was watching Dr. Sexy MD on the couch in the living room, waiting for the tacos delivery from the nearest Mexican restaurant. When the door opened and Castiel entered the house, greeting Dean with his usual ‘hello’, Dean grumbled: “Welcome home, Cas. Don’t hurry yourself, champ, I ordered tacos.”  
  
He froze a moment, realizing that he just welcomed Cas as if he was part of the household and not a temporary guest. Castiel didn’t seem to acknowledge Dean’s mistake, he just sat near him, without even taking off his trench coat, letting their shoulders bump.  
  
Dean’s freak out moment ended as Castiel made himself comfortable and started to watch Doctor Sexy MD with him. If Castiel was against Dean’s making himself at home, he would probably show his annoyance, but instead he seemed perfectly at ease near Dean, sharing his free time watching a TV show and waiting for dinner.  
  
“What Doctor Piccolo is doing?”  
  
Dean snapped out of his thoughts. “She is being a bitch because Doctor Sexy is being caught fucking nurse Jackie in the elevator.”  
  
“Is it Doctor Sexy’s intention to have sexual intercourses with every breathing woman in the hospital?”  
  
“Dude is sexy for a reason.”  
  
“I don’t understand that statement.”  
  
Dean rubbed a hand against his mouth, hiding a smile. He reclined his head backwards, against the couch top, relaxing his legs and leaning a little on Castiel’s shoulder. Who was kidding? As far he was concerned, Dean  _felt_  at home there. It was a scary thought, it was the first time that he acknowledged it, but, for now, it was more than enough.  
  
  
*  
  
  
To some extent, Dean and Castiel settled into a routine: Castiel carried on with his life as a librarian and, in addition, he  _tried_  to help Dean whenever Dean allows him. It isn’t easy dealing with him, but Castiel makes him feel at ease without invading his space or overwhelming him: he always knows when to back off, and he doesn't overstep Dean’s boundaries.  
  
 _“This is John Winchester’s number. I’m out of reach or I can’t answer to the phone, if you need help urgently, contact my son Dean. His number is 0179 8…”_  
  
Dean snaps his mobile closed, annoyed. In almost two weeks in Castiel’s home, Dean didn’t manage to hear from his father yet: he kept calling him countless times, at least once per day, but John never picked his phone up. Dean could have died in the woods, two weeks ago, and his father would never know. Or care.  
  
Dean began to feel restless, worried that his father was injured or had disappeared from the face of the Earth. Dean frowned at his cell, browsing into his list of contacts and highlights Bobby's number. Swearing, he finally decided to call Bobby who, thank God, answered at the first ring.  
  
 _“John?”_  asks Bobby with a hint of surprise in his voice.  _“I thought he was with you.”_  
  
“We separated a while ago, he was tracking something in Wyoming and I took a hunt in Pontiac.”  
  
 _“Where are you, Dean? Do you need back up?_ “  
  
“No, it’s okay,” Dean grips his injured arm, touching the teeth marks on his skin. “I tried to call dad for two weeks and I didn’t have answer.”  
  
 _“Have you been in Pontiac these last couple of weeks? Are you okay, Dean?”_  
  
Dean’s fingers tap on the table. He could say to Bobby that he is injured and he needed a lift, something along those lines, and Bobby would be in Pontiac by the end of the day. Bobby would take care of the wendigo and Dean could go with him to Sioux Falls and relieve Castiel of his presence without problems. A devious voice in his mind reminds Dean that he should have thought about that before, but he promptly ignores it.  
  
“Yeah, I’m good,” he says instead, and that doesn’t sound like a lie either.  
  
From the other end of the phone Bobby swears, and Dean is pretty sure that his friend has some doubts about Dean’s statement:  _“What have you been after?_ “  
  
“Wendigo, and I’ve gotta to admit that it is giving me a hard time.” Hard time is a nice euphemism. “I’ve gotta go, Bobby.”  
  
 _“Take care of yourself, boy._ “  
  
“Yeah, will do,” Dean snaps the cells closed.  
  
“Wendigo?”  
  
Dean turns his head towards the entrance, finding Castiel standing in the doorway. Dean freezes, taken aback by Castiel’s sudden appearance. Did he overhear everything Dean has said? That could be a problem.  
  
Dean let out a nervous laugh, moving away from the table. “You heard wrong, I was saying ‘when I go’?”  
  
Castiel frowns, and for a moment Dean stands still, unsure of what he is expecting from Castiel, if he really bought his lie or not. Then Castiel shrugs and approaches him.  
  
“Have you contacted your father?”  
  
Dean fights not to let out a relieved sigh. “No, I just talked to Bobby, dad’s friend.”  
  
Castiel lowers his head for a second, like he is trying to collect his thoughts, then he looks up, and really, his eyes seem so blue that Dean can drown there and lose himself. The douche bag probably knows the power of his eyes, widening them and blinking, Dean hopes that gesture is unconscious and Castiel doesn’t know how affected Dean. Every time Castiel does something like that, Dean has problems in saying no.  
  
“You can stay here as long as you want. I don't mind.”  
  
He flashes a smile, shy but hopeful, and Dean hesitates a little.  
  
“I find your company very appealing.”  
  
Dean snorts, putting away his mobile. “You like to boss me around, that's it, dude.”  
  
“I hardly boss you around.”  
  
“Oh yeah? And when you try to sneak green stuff into my dinner?”  
  
“They are called vegetables and I'm doing it for your health, Dean. Now can you switch on the TV? Doctor Sexy is on.”  
  
“See? Control freak.”  
  
  
*  
  
  
For what it is worth, Castiel is no dummy. He knows that Dean lied to him before, but he doesn’t want to pry into Dean’s business: if he doesn’t want to share his private life with Castiel, he is free to do so.  
  
Castiel hadn't lived with someone since he lived at his parents’ home. It was a long time ago, when Jimmy and he had a kind of relationship and their parents considered Castiel as their son. Surprisingly, he found Dean’s company nice, nothing like any other company Castiel can find in his family: Dean doesn’t judge him, and Castiel finds himself thinking Dean as his friend.  
  
He acknowledged that Dean has a double life, that the different IDs he found in his wallet meant something, but he brushed away the thought that he could be someone dangerous.  
  
In the last couple of days, he started to think of Dean as a permanent feature in his house, part of his life, and he doesn’t wish him to go. So, when he listened to Dean talking over the phone, he sneaked up behind him, trying to overhear the conversation.  
  
He has no idea what a wendigo is, but it is certainly the word Dean said to that Bobby.  
  
Castiel looks down at Dean’s peaceful expression, asleep on the couch, as he covers him with a blanket, careful not to wake him up. Castiel kneels besides him on the floor, almost holding his breath. He doesn’t know why, but his destiny is intertwined with Dean’s, and Castiel has no intention of letting him get hurt again. He didn’t feel that kind of fierce protection for anyone in the past, not even his twin brother or his niece Claire. He knows that they tolerate him, but they don’t want to understand him. They are moved by love, anyway, but a different kind of what Castiel would want from them or he is looking for. He hates this, because since he was a little kid, he feels like he does not belong there, like he is an intruder and everything he did was wrong.  
  
Castiel hasn’t the right to selfishly ask Dean to stay, but he can let Dean see in his eyes, in his expression, in his every move how much he wants to.  
  
He stares at Dean’s face, his freckles pop out from the paleness of his skin and Castiel wants nothing more than to press a kiss on each one of them. He wouldn’t dare, though, he knows that Dean doesn’t feel the same way, but he can’t stop himself from hoping. He presses a hand against Dean’s forehead, lost in staring at the way the other man’s lips are a little parted in his sleep, plump and tempting. Castiel finally averts his eyes, standing up and forcing himself to stay away from him.  
  
“Goodnight Dean.”  
  
When he leaves the room and he switches off the lights, he doesn’t catch Dean’s light sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

There is a shortcut, between the library and the main road, and Castiel usually takes it, crossing a dark alley and going along an abandoned garage, and he would come home saving ten minutes of walking around the corner. The sun is almost over the horizon line, so a last burst of daylight hit the walls and the sidewalk, painting it with orange brushes.   
  
When Castiel reaches the middle of the path, he hears something whispering in the background, somewhere from behind, from his left and from his right. From everywhere. They are not exactly voices, it is more like a flutter.   
  
Castiel looks around, but there is no one in the whole alley, just him and millions of whispers in the air.   
  
A sharp sound, like a shrieking, but higher than everything he has ever heard, hits Castiel’s ears. He presses his hands against his ears trying to protect his eardrums, but the sound is too strong, and Castiel falls on the ground, shutting his eyes.   
  
Then, as suddenly as it comes, the sound goes away.   
  
Castiel opens his eyes after a couple of minutes, his hands covered by the blood that came from his ears.   
  
  
*   
  
  
“Cas, are you okay?”   
  
Castiel keeps pressing the little piece of cloth against his left ear. It is still a little sensitive, but no blood dirties the cloth. “Yeah, I think I’m fine now.”   
  
Dean leans over him, checking if everything is really okay or not. He reaches for Castiel’s chin and gently moves it, exposing his friend’s neck. There is no blood coming from Castiel’s ears, and Dean cups his cheek, relieved.   
  
Castiel shot him a sideways glance while his fingers fumble with the band, stretching the pattern, undecided between moving away from Dean’s touch or resting his cheek against Dean’s warm palm. The temptation is too strong, but he resists and lets Dean draw away. He still looks at Dean’s hand with regret, though, wanting nothing else than for it to linger there, and to bask in that touch.   
  
“Do you remember if you saw anything suspicious?” Dean’s voice goes in autopilot mode, sharp and concise. Castiel can’t avoid thinking how professional he seems, how  _confident_ . He didn’t doubt Castiel’s report nor did he judge him.   
  
“Suspicious?”   
  
“Well, a deafening sound doesn’t come out of nowhere… and you weren’t the only one to hear it,” Dean points at the other three people in the ER with them, all of them experiencing a slight temporary deafness. No one has bled from the ears though, just Castiel, due to the proximity of the deafening sound, which, apparently, gives Dean something to think about.   
  
“I remember just the voices.”   
  
“What voices?”   
  
“I don’t know where they come came from. I was walking alone in the alley and the voices started to whisper something. I didn’t catch anything, though, and the noise started…”   
  
When Castiel looks at Dean, he finds him stroking his chin, pensive. He is thinking about something and deciding on what his next move is. When Dean leans back on the chair, Castiel knows for sure that whatever decision Dean made he is not part of it.   
  
“Come on, I’ll take you home,” Dean stands up, offering his left hand to Castiel.   
  
  
*   
  
  
_“A shriek? Or something more like a yell?_ ”   
  
“Come on, Bobby, do you even know the difference between those two?” Dean sighs heavily over the phone. “It was a deafening sound.”   
  
_“EMF?”_   
  
Dean gets comfortable in the Impala, leaning on the headrest. He is parked in front of the mouth of the alley, where he passed the last hour doing check ups and finding out if there was some sulphur traces in the air.   
  
“No EMF, no sulphur, nothing that can signal the presence of a ghost or a demon. No clue, Bobby.”   
  
_“I will run some research, then. Are you still in Pontiac?”_   
  
“Yeah, I have to investigate this.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
Dean can be subtle. He really can, but evidently, staying there with Castiel, he’s making him have a soft spot for Castiel himself. He is losing his touch, because, no matter how much he tries, Castiel doesn’t let it go. He wants to know the truth.   
  
“Tell me,” Castiel grabs Dean’s sleeve, preventing him to sneak away one night, right after dinner. “Tell me what’s going on.”   
  
“Nothing is going on.”   
  
“Don’t lie to me,” Castiel snaps, annoyed by Dean’s answer. The words ‘ _don’t you trust me?’_  remain silent. “What’s going on?”   
  
Dean takes a deep breath, ready to lie and deny, anything to not let Castiel come near the truth. He doesn’t want another Cassie or he will be out of door in a blink of an eye.   
  
“Tell me, whatever it is, tell me,” Castiel pleads.   
  
Maybe it is crazy, reckless and completely insane, but Dean wants to tell Castiel everything and share with him his life.   
  
He has every right, anyway, since Castiel was probably being attacked by something supernatural. Dean sits down, and Castiel mirrors his move, sitting across the table, with his hands clasped in his lap, looking at him expectantly.   
  
“It’s going to be a long story.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
Demons are real. Ghosts, vampires, shapeshifters. All of the fantasy creatures exist.   
  
Castiel rolls in his bed for the hundredth time, unable to relax enough to have some peaceful sleep. He stares at the darkness, hearing nothing that his own breath and the mad beat of his heart.   
  
A whole new world with his own rules, unknown to Castiel, exists along the “normal” world and every creature Castiel thought were invented for to scare kids and make them eat veggies, are real. And maybe one of them is after him.   
  
Castiel closes his eyes, comforted by the thought that Dean is downstairs, and he is a hunter and he has just promised to look after him and protect him from the supernatural creatures.   
  
That promise is the only thing that makes Castiel drift into sleep. He can believe in Dean. He has nothing to be scared about.   
  
  
*   
  
  
It is displayed in the newspaper:  _“Young woman mauled by a bear”_ , and Dean's hunter antenna goes wild. He always has the capacity to spot a supernatural hunt, even better than his father, who was in the business for more years than Dean.   
  
The newspaper tells about Louise Christensen, 24 years old, killed in the woods when camping with her boyfriend, Daniel Roost, not yet found.   
  
Dean is almost outside the door, when Castiel arrives with his bike on the path. After revealing the supernatural world to him, Castiel doesn’t seem to change his behavior towards him. He takes Dean’s story with the same, unnatural calm. Sometimes Dean wonders if Castiel is away with the fairies or living in some other dimension.   
  
“Where are you going?” he asks with a frown.   
  
“There's a hunt, nearby,” Dean explains in hurry. “I need to check a few details.”   
  
Castiel arches an eyebrow, immediately stiff. Dean has to avert his eyes, because he hates how Castiel seems always so genuinely worried about him. It doesn't sound fair, but Dean feels half flattered half embarrassed by Castiel's attention.   
  
“If you try to do or say something to change my mind, I won’t listen.”   
  
“I wasn't intending to,” Castiel replies. “Do you need any help?”   
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
“I was wondering if my assistance is required.”   
  
Instead of telling Castiel to express his thoughts plain and simple, Dean just let out a snort. “Which part of 'supernatural hunt' you didn't catch?”   
  
“I can help, Dean.”   
  
“It will probably be the same wendigo who tried to kill me.”   
  
Castiel nods. “I imagined something like that. I can help you.”   
  
“Cas, it may be dangerous for you.”   
  
“It's the same for you,” Castiel leans his bike against the wall, then he looks at Dean expectantly. “Two people are better than one; we can watch each other backs.”   
  
Those are the words Dean always craved from his father and his little brother. John can be an efficient son of a bitch, but he didn't treat Dean as his equal, always considering him as an extension of his arm, ready and dangerous, but not competent enough of being able to do something good alone.   
  
Sam, on the other hand, was always against their lifestyle. He hated that life to the point of running to Stanford. Brothers have to stick for each other, Dean tried his very best, but in the end, it was Sam who turned his back on him, rejecting everything Dean ever done for him. They didn’t have the camaraderie Castiel has just offered, it was Dean who follows dad’s orders and Sam who fights them every step of the way.   
  
Castiel stands with him in Sam's place. He has nothing to do with supernatural monsters before; nonetheless he proclaims that he can be his back up, if Dean needs help. Or, as it seem more appropriate, Castiel  _demands_  to be part of the hunt.   
  
“Driver picks the music,” Dean turns his back to Castiel, walking straight towards the Impala. “Shotgun stays in the front seat and navigates.”   
  
Castiel smiles in victory.   
  
  
*   
  
  
Dean pulls the car in the empty parking lot near Christensen’s household; he reaches for the glove box in front of Castiel.   
  
“Do you know how to lie?”   
  
“I can lie, if the situation requires it.”   
  
“We are heading in the house of a murdered girl, her family is distraught, and we will pretend to be federal agents in order to gain some information,” Dean succinctly explains, arching an eyebrow and tossing to Castiel a fake FBI ID with the name of ‘Jones, Thomas’ in it. “So, yes, the situation requires it.”   
  
Castiel opens the ID, staring blankly at the badge and his fake name. He blinks a few times, but then he puts the badge in the inside pocket of his jacket. His hands tremble in anticipation, not fear, just for the rush of adrenaline. “I can do it.”   
  
“Acting as feds is a crime.”   
  
“I can do it, Dean.”   
  
Dean sighs heavily. “When we open the door, show your badge, then let me handle this.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
Cas can be a hell of a bad cop.   
  
He just stares at people with intensity, but it’s more than enough to unsettle and pressure them to the point of leaving them nervous even if they didn’t do anything wrong. Watching him interacting with the sister of the victim made Dean thinking think on how much he is got has got used to Castiel’s staring contest for not reacting to it anymore.   
  
Castiel is not very good in the physical part of the hunt. Dean can’t really blame him: when they find the wendigo in the same woods where Dean cornered him a while ago, Dean can almost forgive Castiel if he decides to run away. Castiel doesn’t.   
  
  
  
The wendigo attacks without warning, knocking Dean to the ground. Castiel follows the fight closely, torn between fear and worry. He clasps to his gun, feeling the trigger smooth and easy to press, he crooks his finger a little as his heart beats fast in his chest.   
  
The wendigo is over Dean, pinning him to the ground, ready to finish him, and Castiel has no other doubt. He pulls the trigger and shoots fire.   
  
The recoil makes him step back a little, but his aim doesn’t falter. When he opens his eyes again, he finds the wendigo on the ground, half burned, undoubtedly dead. He lets out a relieved sigh, feeling the sweat along his face and realizing that was him who knocked the wendigo off. Castiel saved Dean. Not the other way around.   
  
“Cas! Are you hurt?” Dean is immediately by his side, with his forehead crinkled. He looks so worried, that he seems almost vulnerable. Castiel gets it; of course, Dean is so focused on other people that nothing means more for him. He asks himself how a person like Dean has so little self-esteem and such poor consideration of himself, why people always let him down and seem to fail to notice how wonderful he is.   
  
Castiel hates it. He really hates it, and he just wants to be the one for him, the one to protect him. He isn’t strong enough, now, but he will be in the future.   
  
“I'm fine,” Castiel reaches for Dean's hand, and he is being pulled back on his feet. He feels a little dizzy, though, and he leans on Dean, trying to erase the fog in his brain.   
  
“Cas?”   
  
“Just a little dizzy,” replies Cas, with his face sunken on Dean's shoulder.   
  
“You killed it, Cas!” Dean smiles at his friend. “That was awesome dude!”   
  
Dean's relived expression makes Castiel smile back, proud of himself: yes, he isn’t strong enough, but for Dean he will definitely be. Today he helped him to handle the wendigo, but this isn’t a once in a blue moon occasion, this is just the beginning.   
  
Since he came out to his family, nobody really gave him the attention and the support he needed, Castiel became the “freak son” and Jimmy the “normal son”, and everyone concentrated their love into Jimmy, instead of risking being infected by Castiel's sickness.   
  
But today Castiel was useful to Dean, he helped him, and he is relieved that he could be his help. He could be someone. With Dean.   
  
Castiel raises his head, fully intended to say 'thank you' to Dean or some other cheesy line, but as he moves, he sees Dean's mouth too close and he is instantly drawn to it.   
  
Dean's plump lips are there, a few inches away, and Castiel wants to places a kiss there and then devour him within an inch of his life. Castiel seems incapable of averting his eyes, he let his gaze linger until he spots the exact instant in which Dean's lips twitch and curl, and he couldn’t hold anymore.   
  
He presses his lips against Dean’s, hard and demanding. Kissing Dean, if it’s even possible, is even better than how Castiel ever imagined it would be. Dean’s lips are soft and a little dry, and Castiel teases them with his tongue.   
  
Dean doesn’t push him away, he kisses him back, opening his mouth and welcoming him with his own tongue. He erases any capacity Castiel still has to think, his body is immediately on fire and he pushes himself against Dean, deepening the kiss.   
  
He doesn’t care if Dean acknowledges his hard on, he just needs him to be aware of his feelings and his arousal.   
  
Dean lets out a little moan as he drags Castiel closer, sliding his hands on his hips, then a little lower. Castiel just wants Dean to take him there, in the middle of nowhere, with a dead wendigo a few meters away.   
  
But then Dean stops the kiss and pulls away. Castiel tries to mask his disappointment, but he is sure that the other spots it anyway. Dean seems guilty and a little ashamed, he opens and closes his mouth with his red cherry lips, then he clears his throat.   
  
“We need to clean up this mess.”   
  
Castiel nods dumbly, his face flush and red, and he just follows Dean’s lead without making a fuss over that little dirty make out session. In the end, his biggest victory tastes like defeat.   
  
  
*   
  
  
_“This is John Winchester’s number. I’m out of reach or I can’t answer to the phone, if you need immediate help, contact my son Dean. His…”_   
  
Dean finds very hard to resist to the impulse of throwing his mobile against the wall. It starts to get annoying having no answer from dad and Dean had enough.   
  
He can leave Castiel’s house, now. He can hop in his Impala, and take off from Pontiac and all the problems a relationship with Castiel can lead to. There is no problem in having one night stands with no strings attached: it is fun and energizing and without all the emotional crap a relationship has.   
  
Dean can definitely hook up with Castiel. He is a male and Dean isn’t gay, but, hell, he can experiment and fool around a bit, right? The dynamic must be the same as the heterosexual sex. More or less.   
  
It can be fun, except for one, little thing.   
  
Dean looks at Castiel’s house. He started to think about that place as a place where he can rest and have a break. It was the closest thing to a home he has ever had. Fuck, Dean considers Cas as a friend. He has become the only oasis of normality in his life. He doesn’t want to drag him into his world, Castiel deserves better, even if he can be a hell of a hunter.   
  
Still, Dean hasn’t solved the mystery behind the attack on Castiel. He  _can’t_  take off, now. He needs to find out what happened; the idea of leaving Pontiac leaves Dean with a bad taste in his mouth as Dean looks at his car and all the comfort his baby has always brought him in the past. He bits his bottom lip and looks at Castiel’s house.   
  
Slowly, he heads inside.   
  
  
*   
  
  
Dean drew away from any kind of action that can lead to a touch. He does that with pleading excuses, but most of all, he just stays in his Impala, mobile in hand, calling that Bobby he told Castiel about and attempting to reach his dad. He   
  
Castiel despises that situation, so, after the third day of Dean's stupid behavior, he just ambushes him in the kitchen, confronting him without giving him any kind of way out. Dean is too damn important to Castiel for letting him go away and withdraw in whatever thoughts cross his mind. He doesn’t want to risk him hopping in his Impala and driving to Sioux Falls, just because of a stupid kiss.   
  
Well, it wasn’t a stupid kiss, it was a hell of a kiss, and Castiel doesn’t regret it for anything in the world, but Dean has to acknowledge that Castiel has no intention of letting him slip away. He wants him, in every way he can get. If Dean drew away from his kiss or rejected it or yelled at him, Castiel would be okay with that – not happy, but okay -, because Dean was evidently against any form of relationship with him.   
  
It didn’t happen, though. Dean kissed him with the same passion Castiel did, without hesitating. It isn’t something to forget, and if there is  _any_  chance for them, Castiel has no intention of giving up.   
  
He corners him, while Dean is trying to take a beer from the fridge. He doesn’t need any declaration of love; he just needs Dean to kiss him again and acknowledge his own feelings.   
  
“Kiss me,” Castiel asks straight out as he looks up at him, serious and determined. He grabs his arm, pulling Dean towards him, letting him in his personal space.   
  
His blue eyes are widened, with that particular sparkle that Dean loves, and he really can't say ‘no’. He is convinced that Castiel can ask him everything with those eyes, and Dean won’t be capable of refusing him anything.   
  
Dean touches his face, slowly caressing his cheeks, then he parts his lips, posing them over Castiel's, without really starting a kiss. It is Castiel who grips his forearms and lunges to devour his mouth, kissing Dean hungrily.   
  
He gets it. Dean isn't inclined in showing feelings or having big speech. He is gruff and cocky, and that façade is perfect to hide his vulnerability. All Castiel wants is to be invited in Dean's inner walls, being able to discover more and more about him. Most of all, Castiel wants Dean to be at ease with him, be himself.   
  
So he kisses him, trying to channel his feelings in that single gesture in order to be accepted by Dean, without vocalizing anything.   
  
Dean moans a little as Castiel bites his bottom lip. There is something in that kiss that leaves Dean in awe: Castiel seems so adamant to explore his mouth, fucking starving for his attention and his kisses that Dean feels in awe.   
  
Castiel still doesn't know how to describe his feelings for Dean, but he knows that he doesn't want Dean to go away and disappear from his life. He clings to him and he half moans when their erections clash through the rough fabric of their trousers. Suddenly, having Dean naked against his body begins to be Castiel’s sole purpose in life.   
  
Too fast.   
  
This is too fast, and yet Castiel wants more. He is pretty sure, enough is not enough when it comes to having Dean’s body under his hands to explore, caress and ravish. He just wants to take that moment and enjoys it.   
  
“Bed,” he whispers in hurry.   
  
“Too far,” Dean answers and he begins to push him towards the living room. “Couch.”   
  
“We won’t fit on there,” Castiel tries to be logical. “Bed.”   
  
Dean licks his neck and start sucking that small piece of skin, Castiel becomes a pliant mess one second after, so painfully hard that Dean just has to touch him again and Cas will come as if he was a teenager. “Floor, then.”   
  
“Floor’s ‘kay,” mumbles the other. He fumbles in Dean’s jeans, tugs his zipper down and shoves that down, immediately restraining Dean’s movements. Castiel takes the lead and pushes him on the couch and promptly gets on top of him, letting Dean’s hand mirror the same movements Cas did, only more frantically as he is kicking off his boots and jeans at the same time.   
  
“You said the couch wasn’t okay.”   
  
“Everything is okay,” Castiel breaths, he doesn’t even wait for Dean to unbutton his shirt, he just takes it off over his head. “But I warn you: we’ll be on the floor in the next couple of minutes.”   
  
Since it becomes impossible to undress and kiss at the same time, they stop touching until they are naked enough to roll on the carpet. When they start to shove tongues in each other throats, Dean suddenly realizes it.   
  
This is happening. He is going to have gay sex. Castiel will be the first guy Dean has an experience with. With him, Dean is a virgin again. Goddammit. That sounds ominous and a lot awkward. Dean groans.   
  
Castiel immediately pulls away. “What is it?”   
  
Dean refuses to let his cheeks flush and make him appear like a stupid chick, but he can’t avoid showing his uncertainty. “Did you-?”   
  
“Once,” Castiel understands and hurries to answer, saving Dean from digging himself a grave with his own hands. “I was with someone once.” Castiel corrects himself and pauses, then continues. “He was from Chicago. He was here in Pontiac for a short period of time, when his work finished, he took off.”   
  
Dean isn’t really sure that he wants to know where Castiel got his gay experiences from, and he definitely doesn't want to know now, when in the middle of some action, half naked, with a hard on. “I don’t need to have all that information.”   
  
Castiel looks at him very seriously. He would want to say that he is trying to emotionally blackmail Dean into subconsciously not leaving him, but he is pretty sure Dean would not appreciate it. He will be scared to death and Castiel won’t get laid.   
  
“I am trying to reassure you,” Castiel says instead, kissing him. “I know what I’m doing.”   
  
“I was thinking you were psychologically blackmailing me.”   
  
Castiel freezes.   
  
Dean grins and lowers himself to the level of Castiel’s waist, caressing his cock with just his breath. Castiel shivers and moans in response. “Because, you know, that is post-sex talk. We’re just in phase one.”   
  
As Dean’s mouth closes on Castiel’s erection Castiel gasps for air and shudders against him. This is nothing like awkward, this is something  _right_ , and Dean doesn’t feel pressured or strange or whatever just because he is getting off a dude. This is  _right_  and he decides that he loves making Castiel’s face melt in pleasure. This is  _amazing_ .   
  
“Deaaan,” Cas moans between kisses, griding his hips against Dean mouth. He is so close. “Dean.”   
  
Dean knows what that means, so he pulls away, leaving Castiel moaning immediately in disappointment. “Relax, Cas. We’re still on the same page.”   
  
Castiel looks at him expectantly, with his blue eyes widened and his mouth half-open. He kisses Dean, and guides his fingers into his entrance. He hisses when Dean starts pressing a finger in roughly, but he opens his legs immediately, eager to yield Dean as best as he can. He feels so hot that he almost loses it.   
  
“Cas... relax,” Dean whispers.   
  
“It’s not tension,” Castiel immediately replies. “It’s –”   
  
“I know. Let me take care of you.”   
  
Dean opens him with one finger, then two, scissoring him as he keeps kissing him. Castiel has enough, he just wants more and more. “Dean, please.”   
  
Dean pulls his hand away and lines up to push in. Castiel’s skin is on fire, but inside him... Dean has to pinch his eyes shut and retrain himself from coming before he was even completely in Castiel.   
  
Castiel brings his arms up around Dean’s neck, drawing him closer and inviting him to push and move his hips. This is completely new for him, wanting to be with someone so much, he never felt something like this for anyone, but he is pretty sure that Dean  _isn’t_  anyone and he wants to be his.   
  
As Dean starts moving his hips, Castiel moves with him, moaning in pleasure and want. This is perfect. This could be forever, if Dean would consider staying. There or somewhere else, it doesn’t really matter. Dean speeds up and his thrusts become erratic, they are almost out of breath and slick with sweat, as Dean tenses and he comes, so hot and wet, that Castiel lets out a strangled sigh as he comes with him, without even being touched.   
  
Dean collapses on Castiel’s chest, pulling out and trying to take some deep breaths before fainting. Castiel is in the same condition, though, almost shaking. He wraps Dean in his arms, preventing him to moving away, and keeps him there, against his chest.   
  
“That was-”   
  
“Fireworks,” Castiel grumbles without making any sense, feeling one step away from collapsing. They pass some minutes in silence, listening to the sound of their frantic breaths.   
  
“That was a mistake,” Castiel begins, and Dean immediately tenses, ready to pull away from that embrace. “The idea of fucking on the floor was a mistake. We should have gone in my room.”   
  
Dean relaxes and smiles, perfectly sated and sleepy. “No way would we have made it to your room, Cas. You would have died for spontaneous combustion first.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
His lips are tingling.   
  
Dean licks his bottom lip, refraining from thinking if Castiel’s taste still lingers there or if it is just a projection of his mind. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling over him.   
  
Castiel is still asleep, snoring with his face half pressed on his pillow. During the night his body moves and tangles half in sheets half wrapping Dean: well, Dean isn’t sure if Castiel did it or it was the other way around. It would be awkward.   
  
Castiel cracks an eye open. He doesn’t say anything, he just stares him with the only eye not hidden by the pillow. It doesn’t make Dean feel like he is forced to do or say anything, he feels at ease, because it’s Castiel and staring is normal for him.   
  
“How long have you been awake?”   
  
“For a while.”   
  
“You could prepare me some breakfast, instead of staring at me in my sleep.”   
  
“Looks who’s talking. I bet you even stare me when I’m asleep on the couch.”   
  
Castiel doesn’t answer.   
  
“You did it, you son of a bitch. You totally stalked me while I was asleep.”   
  
Castiel grins and he leans up to kiss Dean, but before he could do that his head snaps up and he stares at the ceiling, like he is trying to capture something. He mouths something, but no words escape from his lips.   
  
“Cas?”   
  
“Voices,” whispers Cas. “Don’t you hear? They are everywhere…”   
  
Then Dean stops listening in favor of pressing his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the deafening noise starts suddenly. He rolls out of the bed, over the floor, dragging Cas along with him, protecting him with his body when the window shatters in a million pieces.   
  
Then, as suddenly as it began, everything quiets down.   
  
  
*   
  
  
There is almost nothing they can do. Dean checks in his dad’s journal another time again, just to be sure, but there are no leads, and Dean has his hands full. Dad is still nowhere to found and Dean has no other choice than call Bobby again and asks ask for his help.   
  
“We’re heading to Bobby’s,” Dean says curtly as soon as he snaps his phone closed. “We can ask his advice.”   
  
Castiel nods. “I need to tell Jimmy that I am leaving then, and I have to take leave at work.”   
  
He turns his back to Dean, heading for the entrance, and Dean feels miserable. Castiel was living a normal life before, and then Dean came and destroyed everything.   
  
“Cas –”   
  
Cas stops and turns his head to look at him. He is still calm, like nothing happened, like his life wasn’t in danger, like it wasn’t Dean’s fault. Dean  _hates_  it. Castiel should be snapping at him or giving him some crap, not just standing there, taking all those changes, and saying nothing.   
  
“How can you take it so calmly?”   
  
That son of a bitch smiles at him and his eyes soften. He seems a little uncertain, but there is no hostility in his expression.   
  
“If we weren’t attacked, would you have asked me to come with you?”   
  
“Of course not!” Dean exclaims angrily. “Are you nuts? I’m a hunter, I hunt monsters, how can –”   
  
“Would you have stayed here?”   
  
Dean blinks a few times before answer. “No.”   
  
Castiel presses his lips together and lowers his head. “I understand.”   
  
“I would have come back, though,” Dean adds, and Castiel looks at him again, with a hopeful expression. That’s it. That is what Castiel is waiting for. “But I would have never asked you to be part of my hunter life, it’s not right.”   
  
“Maybe I would have asked you to, instead.”   
  
“You’re not serious.”   
  
“I am. When I helped you with the wendigo, I was terrorized, sure, but I was also driven by something else: a purpose. I was helping you, I was helping people. Before I met you I was just a librarian, so deep in the closet I didn't allow myself to be somebody. When I found you in the woods, I had my chance to aspire to something else, to come out from my swallow life.”   
  
“I’m destroying your life.”   
  
Castiel shakes his head. “You gave me a different view of things, you gave me… you. You didn’t destroy anything, Dean, because there was nothing to destroy.” He thinks about Jimmy and his family, how hard it was fitting in. “I think I can keep helping you.”   
  
“You are not no-one, Cas.”   
  
“You are the only one of thinking it.”   
  
Dean feels a lump in his throat. How can Castiel think that Dean did something right for him?   
  
“This is not your life.”   
  
“It can be,” replies Castiel easily. “I know you are used to being all by yourself, but you can give me a shot, right?” He cracks a smile. “You owe me, though. I saved your life.”   
  
“Control freak,” Dean returns the smile.   
  
“I think –”  _I think I’m falling in love with you_ . He can’t say it. Not now. “I think I can be your shotgun.”   
  
Dean points a finger to him and winks. “You will be a hell of a shotgun, dude. Let’s hit the road.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bobby seems genuinely happy to see Dean, he hugs him tight, calling him an 'idjit', but there's no sign of heat in those words, just affection.   
  
He roughly shakes Castiel's hand, and points him to his room upstairs, near Dean's. That surprises Castiel because Dean said that he hadn't a stable home since he was four and his mother was still alive. On the contrary, both Dean and Sam have their own bedrooms there.   
  
Bobby gave him Sam's bedroom, if books with lousy covers and a periodic table poster hung up to the wall are an indication.   
  
Castiel feels immediately uneasy, walking in that room, where Dean's brother slept when they were still a close-knit family. It makes him think how much pain Dean has been through, thinking how distant his little brother is and how little he wants to be part of his life.   
  
That thought reminds Castiel of Jimmy, and how confused his brother was when he announced that he wanted to take a vacation.   
  
_“Going where?”_ , he asked him, skeptical. He didn't seem upset, though, which made Castiel think how much Jimmy cares for him.   
  
It made easier for Castiel to lie so he just said that Dean wanted to repay him for his help and he had invited him over to his former father's house in South Dakota. Jimmy frowned a lot more when Castiel mentioned Dean, and he asked for an explanation about the nature of their relationship. It wasn't nothing like a brotherly worrying, it was more like a warning, like he was ashamed and he was ready to scowl or give Cas some lecture about sins and hell.   
  
Castiel didn't explicitly explain his position in Dean's life, giving to his brother the chance to find a way out for his mental sanity and peace of mind, but that encounter left a bad taste in his mouth.   
  
Castiel sits on the bed, leaving his duffle bag on the floor, and he looks around, picking up Sam's traces here and there. There are no photos, no connection between Sam and his family, just traces of his desire to escape: books, a couple of audiocassettes, some university leaflets. There is a small line of salt under the windows, but it is clearly just done, so it isn’t something Sam did years ago, before leaving.   
  
“Tired enough?”   
  
Dean is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed on his chest, like he is physically trying not to let himself being involved in any Sam memories. Castiel doesn’t miss that Dean doesn't put a foot in Sam's bedroom, preferring to remain in the hall. It could be a Pavlovian reaction, Dean is probably not even aware of that, but that signals to Castiel how Dean is deep in his internal turmoil. It’s sad how Dean shows how much he is distressed.   
  
“Does it feel weird?”   
  
“Being here with Bobby? He's cool, don't worry, but don't mess with his things. That it makes him furious.”   
  
“No, I mean staying here, in Sam's bedroom. I didn't imagine that the two of you have a space here.”   
  
Dean shrugs, like it isn’t a big deal. “We were staying here a lot, when dad left us between hunts.”   
  
“Does your dad have a bedroom too?”   
  
Dean barks an amused laugh. “Hell, no! He isn't even allowed to trespass on Bobby's porch!”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Let's say Bobby and dad had a big fight some years back. Bobby doesn't share dad's intentions to making Sam and me into hunters.”   
  
Castiel can perfectly understand that. “Instead Robert gave me a bedroom?”   
  
“You should be honoured,” Dean moves away and gives him his back. “But, you know, mine is just right across the hall.”   
  
Castiel hides a smile. “I'll remember it.”   
  
“Come downstairs, Bobby wants to ask you some questions; I think he doesn't trust me much in interviewing you.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
As soon as Castiel walked upstairs, Bobby stopped being an understanding person and gave Dean his knowing look. Dean explained to him what really happened in Pontiac - his injury, Castiel's kindness -.   
  
Then, after all Dean's talking, Bobby asked. “Who's that guy?”   
  
“Are you deaf and blind? He's Castiel.”   
  
Bobby seemed exasperated. “I know  _who he is_ , I want to  _who he is to you_ .”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
Bobby had the same expression when Dean tried to convince him that he didn't steal Bobby's books to give them to Sammy. Bobby and John are exactly alike, but the bad thing is that his father - just like Dean - isn't inclined to give or listen to explanations. Bobby  _expects_  them and he has a preference in asking them to Dean when he feels that he is trying to hide something from him.   
  
But, for once, Bobby let it go. Just because Dean walked away and went to call Castiel downstairs. He hated when Bobby gave him “the look”, it feels too much like that kind of interest he will never get from his dad.   
  
So, there they are in Bobby's kitchen. Bobby is making a list of all the creatures he checked in his books or through his contacts. No description matches.   
  
“A psychic?” Dean asks disbelieving. “Your expert is a damn psychic?”   
  
“She's good, Dean, and frankly I don't know where else I can look for information. We are groping in the dark. Give Pamela a shot, she won't let you down.”   
  
Dean winks at Castiel. “I'm game.”   
  
“So,” Bobby opens the fridge and takes out three beers. “Have you heard from John or is he still unreachable?”   
  
Dean takes a long sip of his beer, feeling a pleasurable burn calming the back of his throat. It’s a pleasurable distraction and a perfect way to dodge the questionable looks is receiving from the elder man and Cas. The thought of his dad leaves him unsettled, torn between his loyalty to him and his intention to put Castiel on top of his list. Castiel, who is nothing like a family. Dean feels a little guilty, but, hey, the guy helped him when nobody was there and he deserves someone to look after him now.   
  
“He hasn't answered his phone for weeks.”   
  
“Aren't you worried? Something might have happened to him,” Castiel worries for his dad, Dean's mouth quirks upward, amused.   
  
Yeah, he is worried, but he can't tell Castiel that if it wasn't for him and that strange indefinable creature after them, he would probably start looking for him. Besides, his dad knows his shit. It's not the first time he has disappeared. He is probably after the yellow-eyed-demon, and he just wants Dean out of his way.   
  
“He can take care of himself,” he answers. “If he needs help, he will contact me.”   
  
Bobby doesn't say anything, even if he wants to. He just presses his lips together after drinking his beer, crushing his cap. He announces that he'll call Pamela to confirm their meeting for tomorrow, and leaves Dean and Castiel alone.   
  
“It's not the first time that he has left you alone for weeks,” Castiel toys with his beer. The light of the dying sun softens the features of his face, from that angle, with that particular shade of orange, looking at him makes Dean's chest hurt. That vision is heartwarming and heart-wrecking at the same time, with Castiel so close and yet so far at the same time, and Dean doesn’t know what to do without screwing everything up.   
  
“I told you what happened when Sam and I were kids, right?” Castiel nods. “Well, dad has been after that demon for years. It's all he can think of, sometimes.” While his sons were in that cheap motel, alone, their only company each other, listening to the yelling from other rooms through thin walls. “When he has a good lead, no matter what, he leaves everything and goes after that damn son of a bitch. It can be weeks without a word from him, he is so deeply involved in that hunt he ignores everything else.”   
  
“It's not right.”   
  
“I know,” Dean huffs. “It's one of the things Sam hated about him. That day, when he left for Stanford, you know? He blamed dad for our life, and he said that his damn hunt comes before everything for him. Even before us, his sons.”   
  
“Sam was wrong,” Castiel's hand reaches for Dean. Before resting over Dean's shoulder or arm, Castiel's hand stops, he balks a little, then he rest his hand on the counter, a few inches away from Dean's fingers.   
  
Dean knows that Castiel craves closeness, he can read it in his expression, but Cas also knows not to invade Dean's boundaries. Their relationship - or whatever they can call what it is between them - is still too new, and neither of them took a step forward to clarify the situation. They still behave like before, friends comfortable with each other, but with a change of setting: instead of Castiel's life, they are plunged in Dean's far-from-normal life.   
  
Dean doesn't know what he has to do. What he said to him the day before, when he tried to ask him what he was gonna do if the new threat didn't show up, made Dean over think for all the drive between Pontiac and Bobby's place. He doesn't want to cope with complications, now.   
  
He can stretch his hand and let his fingertips touch Castiel’s, but since that gesture will classify him as a chick, he doesn't.   
  
So, he doesn't say anything either, he just drinks his beer, and let Castiel's words sink in his chest.   
  
  
*   
  
  
Pamela Barnes wasn’t exactly the person Dean expected.   
  
For one thing, she's smoking hot, nothing like a weirdo. She totally checked Castiel out - Dean is pretty sure she invited both of them in a threesome, much to Castiel's embarrassment.   
  
It became a little creepy when Pamela took Castiel's head in her hands.   
  
Pamela closed her eyes and began to whisper something in Latin. Castiel’s forehead creased, like he was suddenly in pain, and he was gasping for breath, when Pamela started to press her fingers against Castiel’s temples.   
  
“Who are you?”   
  
The TV in the living room switched on and immediately lost signal, the annoying hoot began again. Dean and Bobby managed to press their hands against their ears, but Castiel and Pamela didn’t, and their faces became masks of pain.   
  
Then, Pamela’s mouth opened in a ‘o’ of surprise. “Angels,” she breathed in. she didn’t open her eyes, but she tightened her grasp on Castiel. She was trying to keep the contact as strong as possible, even if she was completely stunned as much as the other three men were. “You were the Angel of Thursday, Castiel, but you fell. You were condemned to live a human life in the Novak’s family.”   
  
Castiel opened his eyes, scared and lost, started to say something, but Pamela cut him off immediately. “The angels want  _‘him’_  back.”   
  
Castiel gasped as all the lamps broke at once. Dean shouted to let it go, but Pamela rolled her head back, deeply absorbed in whatever vision she had:  _“They are coming!”_   
  
It was the last thing Pamela said before her eyes started to burn, and the room was filled with her screams of pain.   
  
  
*   
  
  
Dean's mouth opens and closes a few times. “Cas is a friggin' angel.”   
  
The revelation doesn't quite sink in, not before he, Bobby and Cas brought Pamela to the nearest hospital. Her eyes burned. God, that was nasty and Pamela will probably never recover. Castiel left them twenty minutes ago, claiming that he needs some fresh air. He didn't return.   
  
“Isn't it so fucking awesome?” Bobby snorts. “Your little Samaritan is actually an angel. Never believe that I could find someone like him in my whole years as a hunter,” he barks a dry laugh, then turns his head to Dean. “Ain't life a bitch?”“   
  
“Sure is.”   
  
Bobby sits up straight, giving Dean a penetrating stare. “Are you done with your moping?”   
  
“Dude, I don’t mope! What the hell are you talking about?”   
  
“Don’t play dumb, boy! That doesn’t suit you and you’re making me pissed!” Bobby bites back in response. “You’re acting like a damn chick, over thinking and analysing everything. You know what will make me feel better? You doing something more useful than staying here, doing nothing!”   
  
“What do you expect me to do?”   
  
“Grow a pair, for crying out loud!” Bobby’s words capture the attention of the few people in the waiting room. “Who is Castiel you?”   
  
“He saved me and he patched me up.”   
  
Bobby snorts. “Try again.”   
  
Dean looks away from Bobby, fighting back a spiteful retort. “He is important to me,” he finally admits with a huff. Damn paternal figure.   
  
“Wasn't it so difficult to say?” Bobby pats his shoulder. “Go to him, I’ll wait for the doctor.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
He finds Castiel outside the hospital, seated on a bench, his elbows rested on his legs and his head lowered. His fingers are entwined together, like he is praying, but Dean knows better. He knows that the moment Castiel looks up at him, his eyes will be confused and lost. Dean isn't surprised; dude's entire life was just been re-written and nothing, nothing will be the same.   
  
He approaches him, but frankly, he doesn't know what to say. Dean is not very good with words, and in any other circumstances he will be handing Castiel a bottle of alcohol, reassuring him that after a few sips, the world will be a better place.   
  
“When I was little, I used to listen to dad's sermons with eyes full of wonder,” Castiel says, his head still lowered. “I was so caught in the description of Heaven, angels and God. I believed in them and I prayed to go to Paradise, close to the angels' garrison. It was before I came out, of course, because after I realized that I was gay, dad’s sermons were full of visions of hell and the guarantee that I will rot there for my sickness. It didn’t stop me from believing, though. I do believe, now. Sometimes I thought that my faith in the afterlife was the only thing that made me keep going,” Castiel let out a trembling breath. “What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to feel? I’m… an angel? My life isn’t real? Why are angels after me?”   
  
Dean doesn’t have answers for those questions, they are the same that wanders in his head. He always thought that angels weren’t real... fuck! He always mocked Sam for believing in them! Now Pamela might be blind because she dug in search of answers and Castiel is haunted by them. He can  _hear_  their whispers, how crazy is that? Crazy and too fucking real.   
  
“I'm sorry,” Castiel blurts.   
  
“What the fuck are you apologizing for?”   
  
“ _I don't know_ ,” Castiel snaps heatedly, but his anger doesn’t last. He takes his head in his hands, his frown creases his forehead, and he quiets his anger down and instead he looks helpless and lost. Dean would prefer him in Hulk-version, full of rage and violence, so he can let off steam, instead of keeping his disappointment inside. Or maybe because this is Dean’s way to deal with things. “I don't know what to say. I don't know a thing anymore. I-”   
  
“You're Castiel,” Dean says easily without a real speech in mind. He puts a hand over Castiel's thigh, warm and firm. “You saved me and patched me up. You are patient and sometimes a little too bossy, but you didn't judge people, you accept that they are different, like you accepted me and my crazy supernatural life. Regarding angels? Screw them, you're human now, you were born human and you will die human. You're Cas, that's all you need to know.”   
  
Castiel breaths in and out and Dean feels his body relaxing under the pressure of his hand. He squeezes his thigh and leans against the bench, waiting for Castiel to recuperate and begin the slow process of accepting himself after all the revelations.   
  
Not much time passes, before Castiel leans back and shots him a tiny smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes, though, because he is wearing that troubled expression. But when he says “Thank you,” Dean knows that he means it.   
  
“Hey, I can’t risk losing my shotgun due to a mental breakdown,” Dean jokes. “Identity crises are lame, dude.”   
  
“Indeed,” Castiel stands up, and Dean promptly follows. “Let’s go see how Pamela is doing.”   
  
Pamela. Right. She is gonna to kill them both, if she remains blind forever.   
  
“Dean.”   
  
Castiel leans forward and kisses him, licking his lips then pushes his tongue into Dean’s mouth. That is their first kiss since when they slept together, their first intimate contact, and Dean’s brain goes crazy. He is  _waiting_  for it, his body is craving for Castiel, now like before. He doesn’t hesitate to respond, and Dean wishes they were in a bedroom, not outside, almost in the middle of the road where the intimacy is equal to zero.   
  
Castiel kisses him slowly and tenderly, taking his time to explore Dean’s mouth. His hands claps Dean’s jacket, searching for a firm support, like he is drowning or his knees are too weakened to sustain him anymore. Dean wraps his arms around him, pressing him close to his chest, and keeps kissing him with gentleness. He won't let him sink in a pool of uncertainty and doubts, Dean promises to himself.   
  
Castiel pulls back, but he leaves their lips an inch away, so they are still touching, breaths still interlocked, hot and broken. They don’t say anything, but after a few moments they walk inside the hospital with a little smile dancing on their faces.   
  
  
*   
  
  
Bobby remained near Pamela all day, as Castiel and Dean head for Sioux Falls. They hadn't faced anything like this before, so they start digging into Bobby’s books and searching on the internet for everything that contains information about angels. Sadly, there are just bunch of new age bullshit.   
  
Dean flips through dad’s journal, looking for something more substantial than a simple list of rumours.   
  
That night, in the darkness of Dean’s room, they make out like a couple of horny teenagers who are trying to discover how sex works. Dean trades a blowjob for a long session of licking and exploring every soft spot of Castiel's body.   
  
It doesn’t feel awkward at all when the morning after they wake up naked in Dean’s bed, sticky and sated.   
  
  
*   
  
  
Next, comes the training.   
  
Castiel forgets how good he was before Dean starts teaching him how to defend himself: now he is sore, all his muscles ache and his eyes itch for all the time he spent trying to improve his aim. He is awful with hand-to-hand fighting, too soft, too indecisive, but Dean is a relentless teacher, and Castiel has more split lips than swollen wounds all over his body. It helped him to let some steam off from every disappointment derived from Pamela's revelations. He also discovers he can shoot pretty well when he has enough time to adjust his aim and concentrate. He still prefers researching, though, even if it meant being constantly supervised by Bobby.   
  
Anyway, Castiel doesn’t complain. He gets his reward when he falls into Dean’s bed and curls against him.   
  
For every split lip, Dean kisses him better, suckling the lip and licking it with his tongue, for every wound, Castiel gets Dean caresses the hurt skin with his fingertips while he slides inside him so the pleasure deletes the pain completely. For every harsh word yelled during their training sessions, Castiel makes Dean moan, whispering filthy words in his ear that lead them to orgasm together.   
  
They never actually talk about it, and Castiel doesn’t have the guts to bring it up, so there is some kind of understanding between them but nothing more. Yes, there are some lingering stares and the intimacy of sleeping together, but there aren't any actual words. When Castiel climaxes, he either kisses the life out of Dean or he bits his bottom lip, forcing himself not to blurt out how he is head over heels for Dean.   
  
So far, he manages to keep Dean close, and he has no intention of destroying everything. He didn’t pass another night in Sam’s room, though, and if Bobby notices, he doesn’t say anything.   
  
Dean was forced to remove his personal space, since Castiel decides that Dean gave him the permission to overstep boundaries. Castiel has always stared a lot, but now he is touching him more, like he wants Dean to feel him, in every way he can get.   
  
Hell breaks loose, when, for the first time in two years, Sam calls Dean.   
  
  
*   
  
  
For two years, Dean pictures a dozen of different scenarios over his first reunion with his brother.   
  
Since he has no intention of any mushy demonstration of love and chick flick moments, he would probably barge in Sam's apartment making some joke or sarcastic remark, while Sam would look at him half with surprise half with annoyance, but he will let him in. In one of his multiple scenarios, Sam slams his door in Dean's face, without giving him the chance to say anything.   
  
It is funny, but Dean always pictured himself at Sam's door, trying to step in his life, he never pictured the other way around, with Sam looking for him. Sam can say all he wants, but he is more similar to dad than Dean, same stubbornness, same heated attitude.   
  
So, when Sam called him, Dean was in his Impala in blink of an eye, his stomach so upset that he was in the verge of puking. Jessica was dead, and Sam was the one who found her, pinned to the ceiling. It was a miracle that Sam managed to come out of the building before the fire devoured it.   
  
Sam didn't even ask Dean to come. He just explained what happened with a cold, emotionless voice, and the Impala roared back.   
  
He reaches Stanford in two days. It would be less, if Castiel didn't insist on stopping to eat and sleep.   
  
As Dean drives to Sam's building, his stomach feels more and more weird, and it's not because of the burrito he shoved in his mouth at lunch. He finds him seated outside his burned home, his eyes fixed on the burned wall and a painful lump stuck in his throat. Sam is there, seated on one of the steps, but he stands up as soon as Dean pulls over in the driveway. He is taller with hair longer than Dean remembers. His little brother grew up a lot since Dean last saw him, but he still has that troubled expression on his face, his forehead crinkled in creases when he thinks too much and now he is sleep deprived, shoulders slumped. No, this is nothing like the reunion Dean thought about: it hurt knowing that Sam has another life at Stanford, far from Dean, but it is heart wrenching seeing that life was destroyed.   
  
Sam approaches the car, and Dean can see the very one thing he thought he will never see upon Sam’s face: hope, like Dean is still his big brother who can take care of his messes. Dean sighs, and Castiel’s hand is immediately on his, warm and comforting, there’s no need of words, but the effect is the same. He looks at him and Cas nods, tightening his grip. Dean feels immediately better, and he climbs out of the Impala.   
  
“Sammy.”   
  
Sam wraps him in a tight but brief hug. “Dean. It’s good to see you.” He grips him for the second time and gives him a second, more hard, more desperate, hug. Sam smells like burning ashes, and Dean wonders if Sam ever took a shower after he discovered Jess’ body.   
  
“Same,” answers Dean. He pats his shoulder, hardly believing he has his little brother with him again.   
  
Sam moves away a little and he shoots a glance over the house in which he lived with Jess for years. Dean follows his look, then he pats again his shoulder, letting his hand linger. “It’s gonna be okay, Sam.”   
  
“I want to kill it,” Sam clenches his fists into balls. His voice is cold and mechanic, and Dean shudders when Sam looks at him again, the sheepish expression he is familiar with is long gone, substituted with a stern look and emotionless voice. Nothing like Sammy at all. “I want to kill it for what he did to Jess.”   
  
Dean opens his mouth to offer his help or whatever Sam needs, but before he can say anything, a noise makes him turn his head. Castiel, right.   
  
Sam frowns, his mouth gaping a little. “Who are you?”   
  
Castiel approaches Dean, standing near him, with little care for personal space. He stretches his hand, attempting a smile. “I’m Castiel.”   
  
Sam takes Castiel’s hand, still a little surprised. “I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. But I guess you already knew that.” He looks at Dean and the old, curious and whiny Sam back. The Sam who is always looking for answers and doesn’t love waiting for them, and surely don’t like when Dean keeps secrets from him. “Care to explain?”   
  
“Since it’s gonna be a long story,” Dean heads to the Impala, eager to find some reassurance in the black leather of his baby. “We’re heading to the nearest diner, kids.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
“So you’re an angel,” Sam’s forehead is arched skeptically.   
  
“Technically I  _was_  an angel,” Castiel corrects him. “I don’t remember being one.”   
  
“Okay, you  _were_  an angel,” Sam starts again. “And now you have  _other angels_  after you?”   
  
“Apparently, yes.”   
  
Sam turns his head to Dean. His brother shrugs and sighs. “Hands up, Sam, you were right, you can tell me ‘I told you so’ for every time I claimed that angels don’t exist and they are only in your girly dreams. But you can’t really blame a guy for trying to bring some sense in all your twisted Pollyanna beliefs.”   
  
Castiel glares at him but he doesn’t say anything back.   
  
Sam shakes his head, puzzled. “Incredible.” He stares at Castiel attentively, like he is some undisclosed mystery, until he waves a hand in dismissal. “Sorry, got caught up staring.”   
  
Dean chuckles. “Cas doesn’t mind. He’s Mr. Staring Intensely.” He says the last words while munching on his pie, mouth full. “But he is a good shotgun,” he adds with a grin. “Eyes on the road, no fuss over my music and he doesn’t want to take turns driving.”   
  
“That is because I don’t have a license,” Castiel explains.   
  
“How come you don’t have a license?” Dean pulls a disgusted face.   
  
“I didn’t need it.”   
  
“Wait, how long have you been on the road?”   
  
Sam’s question interrupts their argument and Dean turns to his brother. Sam looks at him with disbelief, his hand clasped around the napkin. What is his problem?   
  
“Small trips, actually, nothing major,” Dean answers. “But we were planning to hit the road as soon as we have some leads on the feather-heads who are after Cas.”   
  
“Ah,” Sam releases the dirty napkin and starts fiddling with it over the table, then he leans back against the booth, staring out of the window. “You and dad separated, did it happen often?”   
  
“Few times.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“Oh, what? Come on, Sam, if you want to say something, just spit it out.”   
  
Sam taps his fingers over the table. “I didn’t think that you could go hunting with someone other than… dad.”   
  
Dean frowns, not expecting that kind of comment coming from Sam’s mouth. “What do you mean?”   
  
“I’m just surprised, that’s all -”   
  
“Surprised of what?”   
  
“You, of all people, hunting with somebody else.”   
  
“What do you expect me to do? Dad is after that yellow eyed demon, angels follow Cas around. It’s not like dad and I are attached at the hip.” Sam tries to say something, and Dean really doesn’t want to listen to that. If Sam’s next words are ‘daddy’s little soldier’, Dean is going to throw Cas’ leftovers at him.   
  
“It’s going to be dangerous for him.”   
  
Dean snorts, clearly upset. “We’re still not hunting yet, you have nothing to worry about Cas, and the dude has his own mind.”   
  
“I wanted to be here,” Castiel interjects, eager to stop the fight between the two brothers. “I wanted to help Dean and being useful to the people who need help over supernatural problems. Your brother wasn’t very inclined to let me join him –”   
  
“You know, I’m here.”   
  
Castiel shrugs and he has a nice way of putting Dean’s silent rejection of staying in Pontiac or Castiel following him on the road, so nice that Dean himself feels less like a jerk. On the other hand, Sam seems incapable of understanding even that explanation and he frowns even more. He doesn’t push the matter forward, though, but by the meaningful look he gives Dean, he will probably bring it back lately, when they are alone.   
  
Dean tugs his collar, refusing to feel guilty. It was Sam who left his family for Stanford, there is nothing wrong in what Dean is doing.   
  
“I’m just explaining to Sam why I am with you.”   
  
“When was the last time you heard from dad?”   
  
“Almost a month ago, he spotted a hunt on the newspaper - a probable wendigo in Pontiac - and he asked me to handle that, while he was busy with another hunt,” Dean says, glad for the changing of the topic. “I tried to contact him after I was discharged from the hospital, but no answer.”   
  
“He didn’t call you once to make sure that your hunt was going okay?” Sam is bewildered. He gives him an odd look, asking him silently why is Dean taking all that shit from dad, but since he doesn’t vocalize it, Dean let it go. With gritted teeth, but he let it go.   
  
“Not a word,” Dean doesn't point out that dad left him in Pontiac for a hunt in which he almost got himself killed. He figures that Sam, smart as he is, he will probably figure it out by himself, Dean doesn't want to give Sam an occasion to start with all his dramas.   
  
“It isn't the first time he's been out of contact,” Sam comments instead. Dean can almost  _see_  Sam's wheels turning in his head, trying to catch up with Dean's hints. Who is he trying to fool? Sam is a hunter through and through and a trip in the magnificent world of Stanford doesn't cancel who Sam really is. “He is hunting that demon, right?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Sam nods briefly and the cold expression returns again. Dean hates it, this is not his brother: Sammy is the one with big damn heart and puppy eyes, the one who wants to talk about feelings like chicks, the one who always complains when dad was driven to insanity for the yellow eyed demon. Sam is not a cold person, emotionless, seeking for revenge.   
  
“Where are we heading?” Castiel asks, taking a sip of his cold coffee, taking advantage of the stall. “We can track John’s movements, can’t we?”   
  
“It’s not so simple,” Dean answers, glad that Castiel is prone to making suggestions. “Dad is a son of a bitch when it is a matter of covering his traces.”   
  
“Since John trained you, you should be able to track him, right?” Castiel says with a note of teasing in his voice. “As hard as it is.”   
  
“Yeah, like dad is a person who follows patterns.”   
  
Sam interrupts. “Is Castiel coming with us?”   
  
“I am,” Castiel replies. “I know that I’m not fully trained, but I can be useful, Sam.”   
  
“Of course Cas is coming,” Dean answers at the same time.   
  
Sam rubs his face and he appears like he couldn’t believe to his eyes. “So, what, now we hit the road and we look for dad?”   
  
“No, Sam, first, we see if Bobby finds any leads to the angels,  _then_  we look for dad.”   
  
“Dean, we need to find the demon that killed Jess.”   
  
“We will, Sam, I promise, but we need to prioritize –”   
  
Sam slaps a hand over the table. “Prioritize what? We have to go after that demon, before it becomes a cold case.”   
  
“Cas is in no position to wait, Sam, we just have to make a phone call, really. Dad, the man who knows about that demon better than anyone, is disappeared. So, yes, we are prioritizing now.”   
  
It isn’t the best move, bringing again dad into the discussion. “You could’ve been killed in Pontiac, and dad doesn’t even take the time to find out how you were?” Sam shakes his head and has both his hands up. “You jump immediately to defend him! This is so typical of you.”   
  
“Sam, don’t start,” Dean warns him with a strained voice. It went smooth so far, without any fights, and now Dean has to defend dad’s choice against Sam. It is like a trip in the past, when dad and Sam were fighting over everything and Dean was in the middle, trying to calm the two of them.   
  
Castiel follows the exchange of words with curiosity and hostility. He recognizes that it’s not his place to say something and he is eager to know about Dean and Sam’s past life as much as he is curious about John, but, at the same time, he is naturally inclined to be on Dean’s side, and he doesn’t like Sam’s tone of voice.   
  
“You haven’t changed at all, Dean,” Sam says before rubbing a hand over his face. Dean doesn’t say anything, but he understands what Sam is not saying. The words ‘perfect soldier’ are still echoing in Dean’s ears and memories, painful and harsh.   
  
“It’s just – it’s funny, you know?” Sam continues. “When I need dad, he is never here. Now that we are after his obsession, he has mysteriously disappeared.”   
  
“I’m here,” Dean says, leaning back in the booth and toying with his beer. Damn family reunions, fuel to chick flick moments.   
  
Sam shoots him his first, genuine smile, since Jess’ death. “I know.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
“So, what’s the deal with Castiel?”   
  
The question is very similar to what Bobby asked him the first time Dean introduced Castiel, but it lacks Bobby’s gruff affection and teasing. Sam seems off and distracted and Dean asks himself what unspoken crap is chewing Sam’s brain.   
  
“He patched me up back in Pontiac,” he hopes that his diplomatic answer will quiet Sam’s mind, for a while. “By the way, we have to stop the whole angelic voices stuff, really, dudes are worse than a banshee – “   
  
“Why are you letting Castiel come with us?” Sam cuts him off.   
  
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. That can’t be possible!   
  
“Enough with the whining, bitch! Cas is haunted by freaking angels! Staying with us is his best shot, at least until Bobby finds something in his dusty books.”   
  
Sam frowns, disapproving. Dean has to admit that his plan is not so smart, but, hell, angels are completely out of their past experiences, no wonder Dean doesn’t know what to do.   
  
“He can stay at Bobby’s then, or at Pastor Jim’s. He’s a  _normal_  person, Dean, he doesn’t deserve to be part of this. He maybe wanted to join you because he thought it is cool, but when the time comes, Castiel won’t be so keen to stay,” Sam shakes his head. “How could you did this to him, Dean?”   
  
“You have no right to judge him, Sam,” Castiel’s voice comes from behind Dean’s back. He stayed behind to pay the check at the diner, wanting to give to the brothers space to talk without his presence, but as he approaches them near the car he understands that it was a mistake. “Dean made it clear that he didn’t want me with him. It was my choice, Sam, and I’m asking you to accept that, without me giving you my reasons.”   
  
For the first time Dean knew him, Castiel is angry. He is still completely in control of his emotions, but his eyes are sparkling in anger and his fists are clenching in tense balls.   
  
“I don’t think hunting is ‘cool’”, he continues stiffly. “I am perfectly aware of the risks and I didn’t make the decision lightly. I can understand that you are not so inclined with the idea of me with you, but don’t underestimate my intelligence because I made a decision that you do not approve of and you clearly have prejudices against it.”   
  
Sam’s mouth gapes in surprise as Dean stares at Castiel in awe, surprised in his own way, for other reasons. It makes him feel giddy and embarrassed at the same time knowing that Castiel has his back and he has every intention of protecting him. Dean is nobody’s chick, but knowing that someone is so fierce in standing up besides him for a change, is good.   
  
“Castiel, it’s a matter between me and Dean.”   
  
“No, it’s not. I’m involved and I have no intention of staying silent while you’re blaming Dean.”   
  
Sam backs down and folds his arms, ready for another challenge, but Dean has enough, he steps in and pats Castiel’s shoulder while talking to Sam. “Sam, don’t drag it out further. Come on, we need to find a motel.”   
  
Sam was right. Dean hasn’t change at all, but he isn’t the only one who didn’t change.@   
  
  
*   
  
  
Going on a hunt with a brooding brother and an inexperienced hunter-to-be is hard, but somewhat they managed to finish off an angry ghost.   
  
Dean tosses his duffel in the truck then leans against the side of his Impala, glancing over his shoulder at Castiel, who is standing with a gunshot in his hands, looking at the scratch on the barrel. Castiel is a fast learner, even Sam has to recognize that. He is good hunter material, and with some more time, he can be as good as if he had been on the road for years.   
  
Sam, on the other hand, seems to settle into moodiness, oscilling between broodiness and efficiency. He still is too far gone in the revenge lane to not think anything other than how to kill the yellow-eyed demon once and for all. He is trying to reach John, too, but his attempts were as unsuccessful as Dean’s.   
  
Dean still hasn’t said a word to him about the relationship between him and Cas. Partly because Dean himself has some problems in accepting it, partly due to Sam’s unwillingness to be a pliable and reasonable person.   
  
“It’s jealousy,” Castiel said to Dean the other night, when they were drinking in a bar, with Sam a few feet away, playing pool, and Cas pressed against Dean’s side. Not close enough to raise suspicion in Sam’s mind, but close enough to let Dean feel his warmness. “He was used to having you all for himself.”   
  
“But he doesn’t know about – “ Dean waves a hand, pointing between them. “You know.”   
  
Castiel looks down, at his drink. “No, but my sole presence is enough to make him feel uncomfortable.”   
  
Dean knows that Sam is a little bit too spoiled for his own good, and this is all Dean’s fault: he let Sam get used to being backed up always by his big brother.   
  
“He isn’t a kid,” Dean said. “I’m not his hero anymore.” They weren’t ten and six years old, a lot of things changed between them.   
  
“But you’re his person,” Castiel answered softly. “He called you before even before calling John.”   
  
Sam was laughing at the pool table while a general groan announced that he won again. More cash, that was great. Sam nodded in Dean’s direction and Dean was suddenly aware how close he was to Castiel.   
  
“Do you think he can see it?”   
  
Castiel turned his head towards him. “See what?”   
  
“That we’re fucking each other.” That was simpler than Dean thought, saying those words. Fucking is a well-used word: no strings attached, no stable relationship, no exclusiveness. The opposite of their relationship so far. Jeez.   
  
Castiel flinched, but Dean missed whatever expression he had, because he kept staring at his brother. “No hickeys, no sperm over our clothes. Nothing visible. We must count on Sam’s smartness to figure everything out.”   
  
Dean laughed and shot a snarky comment. Castiel didn’t ask Dean if he is going to say something to Sam in the near future, but the question lingered between them. When Sam came back from the pool table, Castiel was the one who moved away from Dean.   
  
  
*   
  
  
“I need a shower.”   
  
Sam’s comment makes Dean focus on the present. The eldest Winchester inspects Sam’s body, searching for wounds, but he finds dirt and nothing else.   
  
“Sure thing, Samantha, we can’t let your curly hair to lose its bounce.”   
  
“You are insufferable, jerk,” Sam gives him an exasperated look before climbing on the car, riding in the front.   
  
“You are too whiny, bitch.”   
  
Castiel puts the shotgun away and Dean closes the truck. “I don’t like vengeful spirits.”   
  
“Of course you don’t Cas, vengeful spirits are noisy and messes up the head,” Dean licks his lips unconsciously, and Castiel follows the movement, mesmerized. Sometimes Dean wonders what Cas’ reaction could be if he hooks up with some girl picked up in some bar or diner. It would be a great thing for Dean to reassert his masculinity, it would be a return to his old self, but, at the same time, it makes him feel sick. Maybe he is too much deep in the gutter to return ‘normal’ again.   
  
  
*   
  
  
Later that night, as soon as Sam leaves them to buy dinner, Castiel pins Dean against the wall even before the door slams shut behind Sam’s back. He kisses him roughly, attacking Dean’s mouth. Goddammit, it had been too long.   
  
Cas doesn't bother to take time to unbutton Dean's shirt, he simply slips his hands under Dean's shirt and jacket, working them over Dean's head. As he pushes him towards the bed, he torments Dean's nipples with his fingers, gently pinching them and grinning satisfied whenever a moan escapes from Dean's parted lips.   
  
“We don’t have much time,” whispers Dean. “Sammy will be back soon enough.”   
  
Cas chuckles against his collarbone, his left hand still torturing Dean’s nipples. “Don’t worry.”   
  
With his right hand he unbuckles Dean’s belt and unzips his jeans, touching Dean’s hardness hidden behind the soft fabric of his underwear. He teases the top while he is licking Dean’s jugular. Dean closes his mouth, preventing other moans from coming out and making him seem like a slut, but when Castiel touches his cock skin to skin, he groans in frustration.   
  
“Fuck me, Dean,” Castiel whispers against his ear, his tongue brushing and licking Dean’s ear. He sounds so damn sexy, that Dean immediately takes the lead and pushes Castiel away a little before pressing him against the wall and kissing him, hard and demanding.   
  
“Somebody might think that you are too eager,” Dean sucks Cas' throat, intending to give him the same, teasing treatment Cas gave to him before.   
  
“Are you really complaining?” Cas manages to say. Dean looks at his face, sweaty and blissful, with his eyes wide open staring at an undefined point over Dean’s head.   
  
“Who's complaining?” Dean works Cas' trousers off his hips, and Cas immediately jumps out of them.   
  
  
  
When Sam returns he finds Castiel in the shower, Dean laying over his bed, with a smug grin on his lips and the window open.   
  
  
*   
  
  
They left Oklahoma and the whole nasty bugs in a hurry, when Sam starts noticing something is going on between Dean and Cas. Well, Sam was still shocked when Dean slapped him on the ass when the real estate agent assumed they were a couple. Dean laughed and went with it, laughing even harder when, introducing Castiel, the agent mistook him for Dean’s brother. That was hilarious – and even the always-stoic Castiel was shocked and outrageous at the assumption.   
  
Then, there are the touching and the abstinence from sex.   
  
Dean isn’t a very touchy person and, apart from a pat on the shoulder or some other forms of camaraderie, he doesn’t touch other people. Well, with the exception of the girls he hooks up with. Hooked up, past tense, because, for some strange reason, Dean is not sleeping with everyone who moves and breaths, like he did before. And he touches Castiel who isn’t part of his family or a girl. Usually there is just a hand lingering for one second more than necessary, or the fact that he allows Castiel in his personal space.   
  
Then, for the third time – and first for Sam -, a deafening sound starts out of nowhere, almost breaking their eardrums for the high-pitched volume. As always, it began without any warning apart from a chorus of whispering that only Castiel hears. Then, all the windows of the diner shatter along with the lights, which leads to a general black out in the area.   
  
When Sam can breathe again, still a little dizzy from the violence of the sound, he finds Dean and Cas side by side, checking each other to see if there is anything wrong. Castiel is holding Dean hand and Dean is not freaking out. They exchange some words, then Dean turns to Sam and Castiel moves away.   
  
That is strange, and it gets weirder when Dean announces that, for Castiel’s protection, they need to go back to Bobby’s and hoping that his panic room and its walls covered in symbols can be enough to cast angels out.   
  
Since Sam can’t take a ‘no’ for an answer, he confronts Dean the first time they are alone, while Castiel is booking them a room. Dean and Sam are gathering their duffels in the parking lot, surrounded just by the darkness of the night and the pale light of the streetlights.   
  
“You haven’t tried to find a girl for Castiel once,” he mutters. “You are trying to find me a girl at every bar we hit, but you never do the same for Castiel.”   
  
“That’s because you are a desperate case, Sammy,” Dean is not looking at his direction, and that is enough to increase Sam’s doubts.   
  
He stares at Dean, suspicion and something like a stunned surprise is growing on his face. “You've got to be kidding me.”   
  
Sometimes his brother makes absolutely no sense, he used to know by the expression on his face every thought that crossed his mind, but now, whenever he looks at Sam, he feels like he is staring to someone he has just met. “What?”   
  
“You guys are  _together_ ?” he asks, incredulous.   
  
Dean could feel his entire face flush as well as the annoyance. “What is your problem?”   
  
Sam's mouth opens and closes a few times, motionless. “It's... Dean, you-”   
  
“You're giving me crap?” Dean asks. “You're going to actually give me crap? Seriously?”   
  
Sam immediately frowns. “I didn't even say anything.”   
  
“Well, your reaction explains pretty much everything.”   
  
His brother grits his teeth and clenches his fists. Dean feels like they are going back in time, when teenager Sam used to do that all the time while preparing to yell at dad. It gives him time to prepare, at least, if Sam is actually ready to whine like a thirteen years old girl.   
  
“I'm not a little kid anymore, Dean. You can take back all that big brother crap about knowing me so well!” he snarls. “I was just stunned that my straight brother suddenly came out! What am I supposed to say now?”   
  
“You can shut up and leave it,” Dean snarls. He doesn't have the patience to accept Sam's logic, right now: he is too damn worried for Castiel and whatever creature is coming after him. He promised to keep him safe, and he can't even say to him who is after him. Dean can't risk losing him, and right now he is losing too much time dealing with Sam. Sam is just being a big baby, like always, throwing a tantrum, and Dean is sick of fights. They are on the road for not much longer than a couple of days, and Dean can't cope with him anymore. It’s like old times again, when Sam whines, dad ignores it (well, dad isn’t there right now), and Dean is the one who tries to meddle. Castiel is nothing like John, of course, but it’s the one who Dean let him in his weird family.   
  
“Dean, I just want to under-”   
  
“Understand what?” Dean yells. “There is nothing to understand! Now, if you are done being a little girl, can we go to the motel?”   
  
“What is wrong with you?” Sam asks raising his voice. “I didn't do anything to deserve this shit from you! I was just-”   
  
“Really? Are you thinking this, Sam? You dumped me! You dumped your own family! You didn't call once to let us know that everything is okay! You wiped us out like we were nothing... and we are nothing for you, aren't we?” Dean breaths in. “But that's okay, because when you needed it, you called me. That's fine, Sam, I'm your brother, I'm supposed to look after you. And I know that it is difficult and painful for you losing your girlfriend, but you have to stop being such a douche bag every time I talk to you!”   
  
Sam’s eyes went wide listening to Dean’s speech, but as soon as his brother finishes, the scorn is evident upon his face. “So what, are you giving me an ultimatum? Like dad’s?”   
  
“I'm not dad, I'm not trying to change you, but I'm sick of your retorts! Cas is part of my life, now. Deal with it!”   
  
Sam grimaces. He seems so disappointed in Dean's words, like he can't believe it. It seems to ask Dean why on Earth it is  _him_  that has to deal with things, because Dean chooses a damn stranger over his own brother. Dean asks himself if it is his fault for spoiling Sam too much in the past.   
  
“I don't want to  _deal_ , Dean,” Sam narrows his eyes and talks slowly, enouncing word by word. “I want to understand.”   
  
“What is it that you want to understand? There is nothing to understand! You have to accept that Cas is in my life, or refuse it, and if you pick the latter, you won't do nothing better than what dad did to you,” he locks the Impala and picks up his duffel. “Book yourself a room, I don’t want to deal with your crap, tonight.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
Dean tosses the duffel on the floor with little care, starting to undress himself. He vaguely registered Castiel coming in and switching the light on, he takes off the jacket and the shirt with rage, repeating again and again Sam’s words in his mind. Understand. Why understand?   
  
“Dean –”   
  
There was silence in the parking lot, since it is night, so there’s no doubt that Cas has heard Dean’s and Sam’s voices. When Dean grabbed the keys Cas was holding, he stormed out searching for the room and Cas was promptly behind him.   
  
“Dean –” Castiel tries again.   
  
Dean sits on one of the beds, head slamming in his hands. Castiel kneels in front of him, disentangling his posture, and forcing him to accept a kiss.   
  
Dean moves away. “I’m not in the mood, Cas.”   
  
“He’ll come along,” Cas runs a hand over Dean’s bare chest, then over his shoulders in a soothing movement.   
  
“I didn’t want to yell like that,” Dean closes his eyes. “Fuck! Fuck! I screwed it up!”   
  
“You didn’t screw up, Dean,” Castiel rests his forehead against Dean’s. He feels Dean’s pain and regret like he is the one who yelled at his own brother, even if he is thinking that Dean is overreacting. He doesn’t deserve any of the faults Sam is accusing him of nor the remarks, and Castiel had seriously thought to talk to him, because he couldn’t stand it anymore. He hopes that Dean’s outburst trespassed Sam’s self-righteousness and made him take a step towards his brother.   
  
“Sam loves you, Dean. Remember what you said when we were in Pontiac, in my kitchen, the day you met Jimmy? You said that brothers have to stick up for each other.”   
  
“Yeah, that was more like a wish than the reality.”   
  
“It isn’t. It maybe difficult for both of you to be again what you were in the past, but there’s no doubt of your affection for each other. He will come along, you’re too important to him not to.”   
  
Cas kisses him again, and this time Dean opens his mouth and lets their tongues clash against each other for a little while, until Cas transforms their kiss in something less rough and more sweet.   
  
“Cas –”   
  
“Shhh, it's about you, today.”   
  
Dean pushes him away, frowning, and stands up. “This isn’t about me, Cas!”   
  
“I want to take care of you.”   
  
“You don't need to,” Dean rubs a hand over his face, exhausted. He has a bad taste in his mouth, like he has just puked his guts, and a terrible sense of guilt. Even if Sam is taller than him and in his twenties, for Dean Sam is still his kid brother, the little bundle his father gave him to protect, and he had just yelled at him, saying things that he is regretting.   
  
Castiel’s arms wrap around his middle and his face presses against his back, nose rubbing against Dean’s shoulder blade. “I want to.”   
  
It’s shameful and embarrassing how much Dean is depending on Cas, right now. He didn’t foresee it, but now here they are, Cas clenching at him and Dean leaning against his chest.   
  
“Let me, Dean.”   
  
Dean lets Cas lead him towards the bed and he sits down again, with the other man knelt behind his back. He starts to massage his back, from his shoulders, working his way down his back, then he rubs his shoulder blade, brushing just a little over his waist, then his two hands return to vigorously massage his shoulders in circular movements. Dean dips his head and Castiel’s hands go to massage the sensitive skin and muscles of the neck, then he moves a little and, as he places a kiss on each of Dean's shoulders, he wraps him in a one-arm hug.   
  
They stay like this for a while until Castiel pushes Dean prone over the bed, returning to his massage.   
  
“I didn’t know you were a masseur, Cas,” Dean states. “First you bake, then you give massages?”   
  
Castiel chuckles. “I’m an angel of the Lord, I’m full of surprises.”   
  
“An angel of the Lord my ass.”   
  
“Don’t blaspheme, Dean.”   
  
“I’m sorry, chuckle-head, do you want to hit me with your angelic harp for my disrespectful words?”   
  
“No, but I can withhold sex until further notice.”   
  
Dean’s head immediately turns to Castiel. “You’re not serious.”   
  
Castiel fights back a smile. “What if I am?” He bends over Dean, tracing the profile of the spine with his tongue, making Dean shiver.   
  
“You’re not very convincing,” Dean rolls on his back. His mouth captures Castiel in a lingering kiss, tongues slowly caressing each other.   
  
“Dean –”, Castiel interrupts him. “I’m trying to… I have plans.”   
  
Dean opens his eyes and pulls away. “What plans? Something kinky? I’m in.”   
  
Castiel smirks. “I’m going to fuck you, Dean.”   
  
Dean groans in reply, hard as diamond in a second. Castiel shouldn’t sound so sexy and the whole prospective of being fuck in the ass shouldn’t be so damn exciting, but it is, and Dean is a mess even before they begin.   
  
“I want to possess you, Dean, I want you to be mine,” Castiel says, with a serious voice. His blue eyes are open wide, full of hope and desire, and that makes Dean realise that Castiel is actually asking for his permission. Like Dean is a chick.   
  
“Dude, I’m already yours,” Dean replies, fighting his hate for sharing and caring moments. He didn’t say that the last time he felt so whipped for someone is Cassie, and he wanted to spend his life with her. He didn’t say that, unlike Cassie, Castiel is the one who got the privilege to enter in Dean’s world and family. He didn’t say that Castiel is more than Dean can even imagine.   
  
Castiel’s face opens in a smile, relieved. He kisses him hard and dirty as he knows, giving Dean a token of his possessiveness, because, hell, Castiel wants Dean in the same way Dean does. “It’s mutual,” he translates in words, whispering on Dean’s wet lips.   
  
Dean lets himself to be manhandle by Castiel, raising his hips to help Cas to take his jeans off, waiting, naked and impatient, stoking his own hard cock as Castiel quickly undresses himself.   
  
Castiel stops his hand and goes to lick and suck each of his nipples as a finger goes to brush teasingly around Dean’s hole. He presses the first finger in and Dean moans loudly, both for the pleasure and the burn, but he forces himself to relax, knowing that the pain would go away soon.   
  
When Castiel works with three fingers in Dean’s opening, the hunter gasps and rocks back onto Cas’ hand, desperate for Castiel to find his secret spot inside him to make him come. Of course, the other man teases it, without really touch it, leaving Dean as a mess.   
  
The bastard even chuckles against Dean’s chest when he pulls his hand back and Dean groans in discomfort. “Patience, Dean.”   
  
Dean wants to snap at him, but he gets cut off when Castiel stands on his knees, lines against Dean’s opening and starts to push in.   
  
Dean closes his eyes shut, feeling Cas slide in more and more like he belongs there.   
  
“Dean.”   
  
“What?” Dean manages to say.   
  
“Look at me.”   
  
Dean does, and he feels overwhelmed by the look in Castiel’s eyes. He is full of wonder, lust and affection, like he is drinking Dean’s features, his cheeks are red and flushed and Dean is pretty sure he is in the same shape. He gets it. He damn gets it. He needs to see Castiel too, to feel him deeper, in his body and soul, locking him inside and keeping him forever.   
  
Dean opens his arms and Castiel leans out, stopping a few inches from Dean’s face, as Dean wraps his arms around Dean’s neck. They look at each other, trading kisses and moans, as Castiel starting to move his hips.   
  
Castiel is the first to come, hot and wet inside Dean, and god, Dean comes just for the sensation of Castiel’s sperm marking him. It is embarrassing, but he feels so good, too good, and he enjoys the afterglow.   
  
Slowly, Castiel pulls away, but he doesn’t go far away from Dean, settling himself against his lover’s chest, snuggling close.   
  
They kiss again, wet and lazily, like they have all the time in the world.   
  
  
*   
  
  
A soft knock wakes Dean immediately. He checks the salt lines, then he gets up slowly, without waking him Castiel, who is still peacefully asleep. He grabs a pair of boxer and opens the door just to find Sam with a sheepish expression upon his face and a box of doughnuts in his hand.   
  
“So, it’s my birthday?” Dean jokes, hoping to relieve the tension. “Where are my belly-dancers?”   
  
Sam huffs. “Like you are interested in belly-dancers,” he teases, and really it can’t be that bad. “You know, I realized two things last night.”   
  
“Is one of those sharing moments?”   
  
Sam ignores him: “I wanted my brother back,” he confesses out of the blue.   
  
Dean sighs, losing immediately the desire to mock Sam again. “I'm always here, Sammy. Even when you were in Stanford.”   
  
“I know, Dean,” Sam scratches his nose. “But, in some way, I expected you not to change at all. It’s selfish, but I didn’t think you could be different from the brother I left some years ago.”   
  
“I’m still the same. Cas didn’t change anything.”   
  
“He changed everything, but that’s not the point.”   
  
“So, what is the point?”   
  
Sam smiles a little. “You’re happy with him, right? That’s the point.”   
  
“It’s not that I have to get married, forget your girly speeches.”   
  
“I know, I know,” Sam repeats, and he is unsure, fidgeting like he is a teenager again, with his freaking height, long arms and goofy smile. “I just wanted to say that I’m not dealing,” he announces. “I’m accepting.”   
  
It’s not simple declaring to his brother how jealous he is of Castiel. He doesn’t think about his brother in  _that_  way, but Sam is used to be the one, for Dean. The one to come back to, the one on the top of the list of Dean’s priorities. Castiel is the outsider, the one who snooped around and made a niche in Dean’s life. They have every right to being happy, and Sam has no right to be jealous.   
  
“Good,” Dean nods and rubs the back of his head. “So the doughnuts are a sign of peace?”   
  
“Nope, actually, they’re more a reward. Don’t you realize, Dean? You are settling down, and it’s something I would never imagine for you,” Sam teases. “A fucking miracle.”   
  
“You’re such a girl, bitch.”   
  
“Jerk.”   
  
Castiel appears behind Dean’s shoulders, in his underwear, and with his hair all sprinkled out. “Does that mean that I get a nickname too?”   
  
Dean feels Cas sliding an arm around his waist from behind and, instead of being annoyed by that PDA in front of Sam, he just leans on Castiel’s side. “You already got it, champ. It’s  _Sassy_ .”   
  
“I don’t like it.”   
  
Sam huffs. “Like Dean cares.”   
  
“You  _are_  a bitch, Sam.”   
  
Sam smiles and points at Dean’s neck. “From what I see, maybe you are the bitch.”   
  
“Oh shut up.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
“Well, if it isn’t Sam Winchester.”   
  
Sam’s face opens into a wide grin. “Hi Bobby, long time no see.”   
  
Bobby wraps Sam in a gruff hug. “It’s time to see you, idjit.” When he pulls away, he nods at Dean and Cas. “I heard that you received another visit from Birkenstock guys.”   
  
Cas tilts his head to the right, confused. Dean explains: “Angels wear Birkenstock.”   
  
“How do you know?”   
  
“You know, the ad.”   
  
Bobby shakes his head and invites all in to drink a beer.   
  
  
  
*   
  
  
  
Bobby finds a summoning spell for the angel who is after Castiel. He drew some other symbols – Enochian ones – on the walls of the panic room, and claimed that with those there are chances that he can restrain his powers. All of them take a shotgun each, Bobby with the addition of a silver knife, they gathered any kind of supply they might need based on their past hunts.   
  
He appears out of nowhere, all dressed up in a black suit and a cocky grin. He is in his fifties, and he seems so normal, that they all look at him skeptically, almost sure that the spell hadn't worked. The angel walks towards them like he owns the place, careless of the symbols drawn all over the panic room. The lamps gives a few sparkles of electricity and Dean has to close his eyes for a brief second and he waits for the insufferable noise that always announces the angel’s presence.   
  
“Hello, Dean.”   
  
Dean frowns and opens his eyes, still aiming his gun at the angel’s head. He exchanges a quick look with Sam at his side, but his brother is clueless like himself. He doesn’t risk giving a side glance at Castiel, at his back, but he knows that the other one is stunned like he is.   
  
The angel takes another step forward and Dean shoots him. The bullet strikes the angel’s forehead, just a little over his eyes, but he doesn’t even budge, he looks at the black rounded hole until the bullet comes out and falls on the ground.   
  
Then, he looks at Dean again. “Nice shot, Dean. Pointless, though.”   
  
Dean grits his teeth and shoots again, this time immediately followed by the others. The bullets don’t harm the angel, though, and he continues to approach. Bobby doesn’t wait for the angel to recover, he throws the silver knife at him, straight at his heart. This time the angel stops, but just long enough to take the knife out and drop it on the ground.   
  
Sam, like the fan girl he is, lowers his gun, looking at the angel with some kind of academic curiosity. Castiel moves towards Dean, while Bobby swears softly.   
  
“Who are you?” Castiel asks.   
  
“I’m Zachariah,” the other says.   
  
“What’s with the normal voice and the human aspect?” Dean wants to roll his eyes at Sam’s question. An angel is there, the very one who was after Castiel and tried to make everyone deaf, and Sam doesn’t know a better way to welcome the son of a bitch than asking him information over his aspect.   
  
“I’m wearing a vessel.”   
  
“You possessed someone?” Castiel seems surprised. He looks at Zachariah’s body, and it is evident that he is trying to assimilate the information, or maybe figuring himself in the vessel’s shoes.   
  
“Angels needs a vessel to walk on Earth. Relax chuckle-heads, in order to be inhabited by a soldier of the Lord, the vessel has to give his consent, which is a great honor, and no one negates.” Zachariah answers. “A vessel is the only way to communicate with humans.”   
  
“You burned Pamela’s eyes, and your voice is impossible to hear.”   
  
“The woman tried to spy on me, I didn’t like it. I tried to communicate, but nobody heard my real voice,” Zachariah pulls a face. “It seems that none of you is capable of hearing. Not that I’m surprised.” He looks directly at Castiel and Sam, with something like disgust. “Anyway, let’s take this show on the road, Dean!”   
  
Dean grips his gun tightly, ready to fire again, no hesitation, if that dick takes another step towards Cas. “You’re not gonna take a step further towards Cas.”   
  
“I don’t care about your Cas. I’m here for you, Dean.”   
  
“I thought I was an angel,” Castiel says, confused.   
  
Zachariah rolls his eyes. “You were.”   
  
“Wait,” Sam interjects. “You’re not here for Castiel?”   
  
“Who cares about him, when we have our general?” The angel points at Dean. “Michael.”   
  
“Are you stoned?” Dean snorts.   
  
“Michael as in ‘Michael the archangel’?” Bobby is always practical, he must hate being able to do nothing other than gaping like a fish, and he let his mental wheels work on past references. “What’s the matter with Dean?”   
  
“We have hidden the fiercest Father's general in a tiny baby, given to a human family to raise, put in a maternal womb to be born. He has to live a mortal life until the time is come, then his true identity will be unveiled and he will have joined the head of the Host, the mighty Michael, protector of justice. You, Dean Winchester."


	5. Chapter 5

A stunned and pregnant silence follows Zachariah’s words, where the all three men look at each other, then rest their stare on Dean, who conveniently turns his attention to the angel. This whole conversation is going backwards, erasing all their beliefs: Castiel is dismissed and angels are actually after Dean? Dean is Michael?  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
Zachariah starts to walk back and forth, three steps on the left, four on the right, then six on the left again. “It’s not so difficult to understand, Dean.” He points at him. “You are the archangel Michael. Or, better, your body is his vessel.  _The_  vessel.”  
  
“I’m not,” all the air Dean has in his lunges is gone. It’s stupid, but he feels like the walls are closing over him, threatening. “You’ve got the wrong person. Try in the psych ward. Along with Michael, there will be Jim Morrison too.”  
  
Zachariah lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Unfortunately, it’s you. No doubt.”  
  
“What the hell…?” Bobby comes out from his stunned silence. “Dean is… no way!”  
  
“How is it even possible?” Sam asks. “Michael fell?”  
  
“Of course not,” Zachariah enunciates with annoyance. “Michael is simply reborn in a human form.”  
  
The taste of bile invades Dean’s mouth. That’s even worse than a fight with Sam, this is completely nonsense, and Dean wants to shoot at Zachariah again, even if he is invulnerable to bullets. He just needs to shoot to somebody. Anybody.  
  
There was a time, when he was little, when his mother whispered to him that angels are watching over him. Maybe that has just become his worst nightmare, too fucking real and too fucking wrong.  
  
“You toyed with my life?”  
  
“It has never been your life, Dean,” Zachariah’s voice returns quirky. “Your body, your flesh, your bones, all parts of you are meant to be a vessel for Michael.”  
  
Bobby interjects. “This whole time – we thought you were after Castiel but in reality you were after Dean –”  
  
Sam looks at Dean distraught, as if he doesn't recognize him anymore, and that hurts Dean more than anything. Dean avoids Sam's gaze and focuses his attention on Castiel. The other man is surprised, of course, but there is no rejection in his eyes, just acceptance and the fierce affection Dean always sees there whenever their eyes meet. Whatever Zachariah has said, whatever implications it leads to, it doesn't change anything between them.  
  
Zachariah snorts. “Castiel? He fell,” he spits those words with disgust, like they are nothing more than venom. He doesn’t even acknowledge Castiel’s physical presence. “He is not important."  
  
“Well, if all angels are dicks like you, Castiel is the sane apple in the whole bunch.”  
  
Zachariah tightens his lips in disapproval. “You will think differently, Dean, as soon as you return to heaven, to your true place.”  
  
Castiel casts a worried look at Dean, then he raises his shotgun. “What does that mean?”  
  
“Well, he can’t have his full powers in the mortal plane. He has to regain his grace, then he can fight.”  
  
“Fight against whom?”  
  
“We need our general to prevent the apocalypse.”  
  
Apocalypse.  
  
Apocalypse is a strong word, it’s fucking huge. There is no chance that Zachariah is referring to a real apocalypse, because, fuck, if it is, they are all screwed.  
  
“Apocalypse,” Sam repeats. “As in… end of the world?”  
  
Zachariah looks at him with pity, like Sam asked the stupidest question of all world. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t really need to.  
  
Dean and Sam exchange a look, startled and shocked. It feels bad, when Sam looks away, like he can’t bear the sight of Dean, now.  
  
“And Castiel?” Sam asks.  
  
“Castiel isn't an angel anymore,” continues Zachariah. “He is human.”  
  
“And he is different from Dean because -?”  
  
“He doesn't have the grace of our Father.”  
  
“I don't have that grace either,” Dean argues. He is human, dammit!  
  
“You will have it, your soul is marked, Dean.” The angel sighs, and appears very human. “You have to accept who you are. This isn't a matter of consent, you don't have to say yes to no one, you aren’t an ordinary vessel, Dean. We need our general, if the apocalypse begins, it’s going to be the end of all humans, of this world. You are the only one who can end it, but you can’t end it as human. You have to come with me.”  
  
For a painful moment, Dean actually accepts. The apocalypse is not the same thing as tracking a demon from the past or proceeding in a salt and burn hunt, it’s a different level, and Dean, his dad, Sam, Bobby and Cas are humans. How many chances do they have? If Dean can do something – in this case, a lot – it’s not a disposable invite. Then, as soon as Dean’s brain formulates that thought, he feels disgust for himself and for the shallow surrender he is going to give. There is no way he gives up without a fight. This couldn’t be him, this  _isn’t_  him. He is no angel, no protector of fucking justice, he is Dean Winchester, but most of all, he is no toy in the hands of angels.  
  
“I’m sorry pal, I don’t really looking forward to be an angel condom.”  
  
Bobby barks a laugh, clearly pleased, and Castiel seems relieved. Seriously, have they thought that Dean would give in with no fight? A shake sigh comes from Dean’s side, and he looks at his brother, who seems relieved as much as Castiel.  
  
Sam catches his look and gives him a sheepish grin, then he raises his weapon against Zachariah, showing his intention to fight for his brother.  
  
Zachariah shakes his head, his eyes full of sorrow. “Why, why, why? You don’t understand… you should be joyous for this. You, man, are Michael. An angel, a superior being. You should be happy to follow me to heaven, not refusing to acknowledge who you are.”  
  
“Bite me.”  
  
Zachariah sighs, annoyed. “You are not yourself, but maybe I can use some old tricks to make you reconsider your behaviour.”  
  
He raises his right hand, always with a sorrowful expression, as Dean has personally disappointed him. Zachariah snaps his fingers. A simple gesture, and Sam, Bobby and Castiel immediately slam against the nearest wall, coughing blood.  
  
“Stay away from them, you son of a bitch!”  
  
“You don’t understand, Dean. You have no choice.”  
  
Dean shoots him again. Unharmed, Zachariah twists his right wrist and Dean can only watch with horror as the other three men collapsing on the floor with a wham.  
  
“Come, Michael. We are waiting for you.”  
  
Dean feels his chest tightens and his skin tingles. He spots something in Zachariah, something at his back, a convulse move and a flutter d wings, his eyes burn, like he is seeing something that he shouldn’t have. Not yet, at least.  
  
Zachariah stretches his hand forward almost grasping Dean’s arm, when a white light appears, he tries to stay but in a few seconds he disappears screaming with a bolt of light.  
  
“It worked.”  
  
Dean turns his head and he finds Castiel with his right hand soaked in his own blood resting on the wall, in the middle of a circle surrounded with a lot of symbols in an unknown language. Cas’ hand shivers, and he drops the knife he used to make a long transversal cut in the palm. Dean kneels besides him, checking the wound. Bobby and Sam look at the symbols carved in blood, fascinated.  
  
“What is it?” Sam asks.  
  
“It’s Enochian.”  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“I remembered it,” Castiel answers with a sparkle of pride in his eyes, looking solely at Dean. “It's a sigil to keep angels away.”  
  
Dean lets out a dry and relieved laugh. “You old dog, Cas.” The admiration he feels for Cas is growing and growing, because now he is in the same position Cas was when Pamela revealed him to be an angel. Dean doesn’t know how Sam or dad will react, but Dean has a lump in his throat right now.  
  
“It’s my turn,” Castiel claims, like the end of the world is the simpler thing in the universe. “to protect you.”  
  
“I don’t need anybody’s protection.”  
  
“This time you do,” Bobby stands up, putting his cap back in place. “Holy crap, if the idjit is telling the truth, we all need help.”  
  
Dean lets out a heavy breath. “I know. That’s going to be hardcore.”  
  
Sam reaches a hand over to his brother, clutching his shoulder as he leans against him. “We’re in this together.”  
  
Sounds promising.  
  
  
*  
  
  
It’s Castiel who changes everything.  
  
Dean is helping him with his cut, gently patching his hand, while he is babbling nonstop about classic rock. Castiel didn’t listen much to what Dean said, understanding that Dean is covering their silence so as not to think about the current situation, angels, Michael and a fantastical apocalypse-to-be. A few months ago, Castiel didn’t know anything about ghosts and demons, apart from the obvious folklore, he is a librarian, he has a twin brother and no one else to come back home to. Now, Cas has a surrogate family, he has Dean and one step away from the end of the world. He is a fallen angel, and Dean is the archangel Michael.  
  
At some point, Dean interrupts his long speech, Castiel blinks a few times, surprised at the unexpected silence, and he finds Dean chuckling.  
  
“Why are you laughing?”  
  
“I totally stole your angelic thunder, Cas.”  
  
That’s it. In that moment, when Dean smiles and his green eyes sparkle, Castiel feels like his heart is bursting and his chest is too confining for it. Despite all his attempts to keep it as a secret, Castiel blurts  _it_  without warning. He doesn’t even quite get that he said it aloud, until Dean’s smile falters and his eyes widen.  
  
It is too late to remediate his mistake, and Castiel doesn’t want to. It may screw everything up, but Dean deserves honesty and sincerity, and Castiel doesn’t want to hide it anymore.  
  
“I'm sorry, Dean. I know you probably don't want me to, but I love you.” He holds Dean's gaze, not blinking or flinching, even if he wants to.  
  
When Castiel falls silent and looks at him for a reaction, Dean has no idea of what to say. Love is a strong word, and Dean has no idea how to cope with it or what to say without seeming like a goldfish idiot, with his big mouth open in surprise.  
  
He presses his lips together, undecided of what to say as the silence grows longer and the awkwardness of the situation increases gradually.  
  
Castiel takes a step forward and opens his mouth to say something else, but Dean can't stand it and turns his back to him, wanting to keep his distance.  
  
“I understand,” Castiel says at his back in a whisper. “I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable.”  
  
He moves away and climbs the stairs, reaching the bedroom they shared and starting to find a blanket and a pillow for the couch. He tries to avoid any breakdown, but his chest hurts as he breaths heavily.  
  
“Hey, where are you going?”  
  
Castiel looks up and spots Dean in the doorway. He tightens the grip over the plaid, hoping to find there a reassurance. “I'm- I thought you-”  
  
Dean sits on the bed, giving Castiel his back again, and starts taking off his shoes and jeans. “I'm tired. Let's go to sleep.”  
  
“I'm-”  
  
Dean lays down on the bed, under the sheets, with just his t-shit and the underwear. He nods at Castiel, motioning to his usual space besides him, when Castiel doesn’t move, he stretches out his arm, in a clear but firm invitation.  
  
Castiel undresses slowly, uncertain, and he slips besides Dean, sighing slightly when the other man pulls him against his chest. He rests his hand over Dean's heart and he feels the pounding of his heartbeat, he nuzzles at Dean's shoulder and stares at his face in the darkness. If Dean doesn't want any confrontation and prefers to keep pretending nothing happened, Castiel can go with it. He can bury his feeling in the deep end of his heart, he can be Dean's best friend, no love-strings attached. He can be whoever Dean wants, as long as Dean holds him like this. He doesn't know if he can be good at doing this - at hiding his feelings -, but he can try, at least. Losing Dean is something completely out of his mind, Castiel wants him in every way he can get.  
  
“I don't know if I love you,” Dean says suddenly.  
  
Castiel stiffens and breaths in, ready to apologize, but Dean cuts off his reply and continues.  
  
“I just want you,” Dean holds him tightly, thanking the darkness of the room for hiding the warmth he feels on his cheeks. “What I feel for you is the thing most near to love that I've ever felt.”  
  
Castiel feels Dean's heart beating faster in his chest. He caresses him lovingly, smiling broadly, his own heart beating wildly, barely able to control his happiness. “It is everything.”  
  
  
*  
  
  
It turns out, Castiel can trace a lot of undecipherable sigils in Enochian without even knowing their meaning. It’s stupid, but it is enough to prevent any angels from entering Bobby's house.  
  
The sigils cannot protect Dean in his dreams, though. With his snarky smile Zachariah haunts Dean’s dreams, forcing him to come with him to heaven. Dean dreams of a road that starts from nowhere and leads to nowhere, and he is driving, and driving, and driving, but he never reaches his destination. He feels watched, constantly, but no one is there. Sometimes he drives with little Sammy, sometimes with Castiel. But the dream always ends in the same way: when he arrives halfway of the road, Zachariah comes and he forces him to climb out of the car and follows him. Every time, Dean refuses, and every time, Zachariah goes mad and shows Dean the death of somebody he loves. Sam, Bobby, Cas, dad, Sam, Sam, Cas, dad, Cas, Bobby, dad, Sam.  
  
Dean always wakes up, shivering and nauseous, and Castiel is by his side, comforting him with his presence, reminding him that in the real world, everyone is still alive.  
  
  
  
Dean doesn’t sleep well for a week, then, Zachariah stops bothering his dreams. He appears in one of his dreams and says that when the time comes, Dean can’t say no to him. He doesn’t let Dean continue on the mysterious road, he doesn’t let Dean dream at all, and he stumbles in nothing but darkness. Every night Dean sleeps, every morning Dean wakes up with no memory of his dreams, just a lump in his throat and his skin tingling.  
  
His whole body is  _waiting_ , and Dean tries not to think that he is waiting for the end of the world.  
  
  
  
Just when he thinks about the apocalypse, Zachariah reappears in his dreams, showing him the consequences of a possible apocalypse and he stretches his hand. Dean refuses to hold it, and wham! Sam is dead. Dad is dead. Cas is dead. Bobby is dead.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
 _One night, Dean dreams of his mum. There are no roads, just little Dean and Mary, quietly seated on a bench in a playground during a sunny day.  
  
She is smiling at him, and Dean feels somewhat reassured, just by her presence.  
  
“You did a good job,” she says. “Will you protect Sammy against everything, like you always do?”  
  
“Of course, I will.”  
  
Mary pats his head and ruffles his hair. “You are my little angel.”  
  
Dean beams at the praise, then, remembering Zachariah, he denies. “I’m not an angel.”  
  
But Mary keeps talking. “Will you forgive your mommy, little angel?”  
  
“Why do I have to forgive you, mom?”  
  
Mary’s smile disappears, she looks at the sky, her eyes wet and sad. Dean hates it, because mum should be smiling always, he tries to hug her like he used to do when she was sad, but everything scrambles away.  
  
Before she disappears, Mary takes his hand. “I’m sorry, Dean.  _They_  are toying with you and Sam. I’m sorry that you have to go through this.”  
  
“Go through what, mum?”  
  
A couple of voices shout at him, saying something Dean doesn't recognize. Someone grabs his arm and he feels a burning sensation, like his skin is suddenly on fire. It is too bright and he has to shut his eyes before becoming blind.  
  
“It’s time._  He  _is dead. Everything is going as it is supposed to go.”_  
  
  
  
Dean wakes up with his whole body screaming in pain. His arm is burning so hard that he has to look at the skin, searching for burnt wounds. He finds none.  
  
“Dean!” Castiel is here by his side, with his eyes wide open, full of concern. “What is it?”  
  
“Nothing, just a bad dream.”  
  
He lays down again, Castiel follows at once, still worried, still unconvinced of Dean’s lies. He passes a warm arm around his middle, anyway, and he lets Dean rests his head over his chest, falling asleep at the steady sound of his heartbeat.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Dean tries to call dad the next morning and, this time, dad picks up. He doesn’t apologize for his disappearance, he doesn’t ask Dean if he is okay, he just barks orders and he hangs up. All Dean manages to say is that Sam is with him, and John appears genuinely glad by that.  
  
Although Bobby makes his disapproval clear, Dean packs a bag, sending Zachariah to hell by all regards, and Sam, Cas and he leave Sioux Falls immediately, following dad’s orders to meet in Manning, Colorado.  
  
John is already there, leaning against his black truck, identical to the man Sam saw for the last time years ago. Maybe he has some more wrinkles in his forehead, sign of the time and of his uncountable hunts. Seeing him again rises in Sam’s chest a bundle of relief and annoyance altogether: his kid’s years, when everything was perfect, his teenager’s years, fighting over everything, his adult years, the yelling and the closed doors.  
  
He glances at Castiel, seated in the backseat, through the mirror. “Are you nervous, Cas?” Sam mimics Dean’s short name for Castiel. “It’s like meeting the parents,” he teases. “Only, dad has an arsenal at hand.”  
  
“Leave him alone, Sam,” Dean cuts him off, eyes on the road. He feels his skin burning and tingling, he shrugs and rotates his shoulders, since it is the better way to let the smooth fabric of his shirt rub at his back without catching the attention of his two mother hens. Although, even if his skin is hot, Dean feels shivers running down through his spine, and those two, opposite sensations make every movement painful.  
  
“Are you okay, Dean?” Castiel is immediately pressing against Dean’s backseat. Damn, Castiel is becoming more and more perceptive of his lies. He has that adorable pout over his lips that Dean wants to kiss.  
  
“Peachy.”  
  
Sam and Castiel exchange a look, and Dean has to admit that it’s not cool when the two of them conspire against him. He pulls over, opens the door of the Impala in one, smooth movement.  
  
“Dad,” he nods in his direction, his head spinning with tons of questions. John nods in response and approaches them.  
  
Sam climbs out of the car slowly and John looks directly at him. “Sammy, it’s good to see you, son.”  
  
“You too, dad,” Sam replies carefully. The hateful words they exchanged in the past are still echoing in his ears. He doesn’t regret any of it, because, he said exactly what he was thinking, but, hell, he hated that they left with such harsh words. Sam knows that if he alludes to any fight in the past, Dean will skin him alive, but his dad has the power to make his anger devour the logical part of his brain. He keeps his mouth shut, anyway.  
  
John’s eyes travel between his younger son to the stranger who stands near Dean. He frowns, immediately suspicious: “Who is he?”  
  
“Castiel,” he introduces himself. “Nice to meeting you, Mr. Winchester.”  
  
Both Dean and John’s faces grimace at the mention of the title, Sam rubs a hand over his mouth, amused. Castiel looks at them, clearly confused.  
  
“It’s John, and I don’t quite get why you’re with my two sons.”  
  
“We are hunting together,” Castiel casts a quick glance at Dean, waiting for the other to nod, giving him the permission to say it. “I’m with Dean. We’re together, that is.” It’s the first time he admits it openly, but he has to admit that he likes savouring that words.  
  
There is a long silence while John widens his eyes, staring at Castiel like he is with two heads and three sets of noses, he turns to Dean. “Is it true?” Before having an answer from his eldest, he continues, words heavy with venom and accusation burning in his piercing eyes.  
  
Dean’s blood freezes in his veins. He is expecting everything except that. Sam and Cas stiffen immediately at his sides, but when John attempts a smile, they calm down. Dean doesn’t let his guard down, though. He never saw that smile on dad’s face: too smug, too lecherous, too dark. Dean’s skin is even hotter, itching and stretching, and he feels a rush of hostility towards him, for what reason, Dean doesn’t know. John is starting to talk, telling them about a mysterious gun, a Colt, which can kill any supernatural creature.  
  
Then, Dean spots it.  
  
The gleam of his eyes.  
  
“Dad?”  
  
John stops talking and turns to him, annoyed for the interruption. “I’m talking, Dean. We don’t have much time, the vampires have the Colt and more time I spend briefing you, more advantage they have.”  
  
He is dad, no doubt, but Dean’s whole body is screaming the contrary. And his eyes…  
  
“Christo,” he mutters, hoping to get it wrong.  
  
John’s eyes go immediately black, then they shape in yellow spots, cold and motionless. He grins, half amused, half annoyed, then he mockily claps his hands. Sam gasps and raises his gun, aiming at John’s head, while Castiel tries to do the same, he isn’t quite quick enough, though, and the demon takes advantage of the situation, wrapping an arm around Cas’ throat.  
  
“Cas!”  
  
Castiel tries to move away from the grasp, but the demon tightens the grip, and Castiel’s pale face turns a bright red, he gasps for air. Dean feels his chest sinking six feet under, shocked.  
  
“Oh, Dean-o, I’m impressed,” Azazel says softly. “It seems that I have to anticipate my moves again. That’s a pity, I wanted to play a little more with you.”  
  
“Get out of my dad, you son of a bitch and leave Cas!”  
  
Sam’s hands tremble furiously as the demon laughs in pure delight. “I’m gonna kill you!” But he doesn’t shoot. He can’t. Azazel is in his dad’s body, and keeps Castiel too fucking close.  
  
The demon lowers his head, nuzzling against Castiel’s neck, then he coughs. “He still reeks of heaven! Poor, little, cast out angel, falling for a Winchester! You signed your death sentence.”  
  
Dean grits his teeth, furious. “Let him go or I swear to God I’m gonna tear you limb from limb!”  
  
Azazel sneers, almost flattered. “You know, John’s body is completely useless to me.” Sam startles. “Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you, but daddy John is dead. He came to me with the Colt, all mighty and vengeful, months and months ago. But I killed him first! You should have seen him! He was in a pool of blood when I finished with him. But it was a nice show.”  
  
Dean and Sam gasp simultaneously, feeling their lungs emptying of all the oxygen. So, this is it. They are the last Winchesters. In all those months of silence, dad didn’t contact him because he couldn’t, not because he is so caught up with his business or because he didn’t care. Dean feels immediately guilty: if he had gone with his dad… Dean’s mouth dried all at once, the weight of his dad’s death over his chest, preventing him from breathing freely.  
  
He closes his eyes, then opens it.  _“Focus, Dean_ ”, he repeats and repeats in his mind.  _“Focus on the living ones, focus on Castiel._ ”  
  
“So, I’m thinking of taking another body,” Azazel licks Castiel’s sweating temples. He is purple in his face, his eyes wide and pupils almost rolled back. “This little angel seems perfect.”  
  
“Leave him alone!” Dean’s skin is on fire. He feels like every muscle is stretching more than is possible. But he can let it go, that son of a bitch has his Cas, his Cas, and Dean can’t lose his calm or giving him a reason to snap Cas’ neck. When Cas gasps harshly, his legs and arms moving crazily in a desperate way to suck breath in, Dean panics, so angry that he barely breaths himself. Sam takes his arm, worried. “Dean!”  
  
“Isn’t it sweet?” Azazel sneers, like he has already won. And he has, the bastard, because Dean is willing to do everything to save Castiel.  
  
“Leave him alone!” he repeats, lowering his gun. “I’ll do everything, if you need a body, take me.”  
  
“DEAN!” Sam shakes him. “What the hell – ”  
  
“Well, Dean isn’t it a generous offer? What do you think, Castiel?” Castiel is not responsive anymore, Dean doubts he could even hear what’s happening around him. “But, I have to decline. It wouldn’t be fun, at all. I would like to see your distraught look as I take your brother away. You know, he is one of my kids, and I need him.”  
  
“No!” Dean grasps at Sam's jacket. Sam opens and closes his mouth, wordlessly.  
  
This is a nightmare. First, Castiel, then Dean and the whole Michael crap, now Sam?  
  
“I should have waited a little bit more, though, for the great celebrity death match I was organizing, among all my children, but let’s face it, Sam has always been my favourite.” Sam shudders, confused. “Oh yeah, I had to move before the time, and you still haven’t realize how special you are, Sammy.” Azazel looks pointedly at Dean’s direction, smiling at the pain on his face. “Since you are no value to me, I think I’m gonna take everything you loved: your cherished little brother AND your little fallen angel. But don’t worry, Dean, I’ll leave you with your daddy. Don’t say I’m not merciful.”  
  
He takes off his arm from Castiel’s throat and the limp body of the fallen angel falls on the ground. Azazel easily overpowers Dean and he tosses him away before reclining his head back, widening his mouth and leaving John’s body.  
  
Dean is vaguely aware that his mouth is full of blood, and the last thing he sees before drifting into darkness is Castiel looking at him with yellow eyes.  
  
  
*  
  
  
It’s dark. Dean is struggling. Anger and hatred fight in his chest. Cas, Sam… Dean yells with all his strength, he wants to be stronger to cast out all the pain, to protect who he loves. But he wants to stay human. No tricks, no powers. Just him, stronger, against the darkness. Human.  
  
He feels it.  
  
It’s a hot, white light, full of love and power.  
  
Without second thoughts, Dean grabs it.  
  
It’s like a blanket, warm and comfortable, and it fits perfectly against Dean’s skin. It’s made of love, that kind of complete and blind love that Father has for all his creatures, but it’s different, it’s like a special gift, and it’s for His favoured son.  
  
Dean startles as he gets it.  
  
Nononono. This can’t be…  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
 _This time, he meets with his father.  
  
They aren’t in the bright and happy playground where Dean saw his mother last time. No, they are in a furnace, where everything in a confused spot of red and black and Dean is the middle of it.  
  
He is not breathing, and the smell of sulphur is too strong, hurting his lungs and nose. The indistinctive shape of John emerges from the darkness, but he has to struggle to stay on the top of the blurred bundle. Dean can’t see him always, sometimes John’s body is there, something there is just his voice.  
  
“Is this hell?”  
  
John appears and disappears, in continuous movement. “What are you doing here, son?”  
  
“I think I died,” Dean feels like he is devoured by flames, even if there is no fire and he has no body. He is made of nothing, floating into nothing, surrounded by nothing else than that bright and hot bundle. He hasn’t eyes, but he can see, he hasn’t ears, but he can hear, he hasn’t skin or flesh, but he is feeling on fire. “I’m in hell.”  
  
“You’re not dead, son.”  
  
“Where the fuck am I, then?”  
  
“You’re where you’re not supposed to be, you should be with Sammy.”  
  
Dean feels like all the air is drained from his lugs. Sammy. Oh fuck, Sammy is still there, in that field, with Cas and Azazel.  
  
“I knew it.”  
  
“What?” Dean turns around, looking for a break, for a way to get out of that mess. “You knew that I wasn’t capable of keeping Sam safe? Well, yeah, you’re right. But I’m doing something now, and I wouldn’t say no to a little help.”  
  
“I didn’t mean that, Dean. I’m not blaming you for everything that happened to Sam. It was just a matter of time until Azazel would try to get him by his side. I went after him as soon as I found out what Mary did.”  
  
At that mention, Dean’s whole body stills.  
  
“She made a deal with him for saving me, thirty years ago. Sam was Azazel’s from the beginning, but nothing went like he planned.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“I didn’t raise fools for sons,” John’s body fades for a moment, then he comes back, more shaped, more alive. “The angels, Dean. They didn’t want to stop the apocalypse, they could do anything, but they chose not to.”  
  
Dean shakes his head, but suddenly, a thought hit him and he goes back to that night, when he dreamt of his mother. They knew John died, those sons of bitch they probably knew everything, even what Azazel’s plan is now.  
  
“They said I was Michael and they need their general, they didn’t say that they need me to stop the apocalypse.”  
  
John nods. “Michael has to end it. You have to end it, Dean.”  
  
“I’m not him.”  
  
“I’m afraid you are, son. You’re not a regular person, you’re different,” John disappears. “The quicker you can use your position, the sooner you can end this.”  
  
Dean turns around, but he doesn’t see anything, just as the whole darkness swallows everything and Dean finds himself staring at the same panorama, red and black, red and black, red and black, redandblack.  
  
“Wake up, son.”_  
  
  
  
  
Dean opens his eyes.  
  
His mouth is full of dirt, just dirt, no blood. He blinks a few times and then he gathers his strength to get up. Surprised, he stands up without effort, feeling light-headed, with his hearing and his sight improved so much that he can hear a leaf fall from a tree two miles away. His skin doesn’t tingle anymore, he doesn’t feel hot or itching, he is perfectly fine for the first time in weeks.  
  
His body is not  _waiting_  anymore. He is ready.  
  
“Brother.”  
  
Zachariah is besides him, zapped suddenly in a flutter of wings.  
  
Dean doesn’t understand why Zachariah is calling him brother, but he doesn’t care. His brother, his only brother, and his Cas are in Azazel’s hands. That’s all he cares of.  
  
“The demon is going to open Hell’s Gates,” Zachariah says softly, passive, completely without any arrogance. “Wyoming. All demons are coming out now, brother. Everything went as we planned. Freeing Lucifer would be our next move, then, there will be the battle.”  
  
Dean opens his mouth to say that all he needs to know is where Sam and Cas are, that the demons can wait, but no sound comes out from his mouth. He is mute, incapable of talking. He touches his lips, then he curls his fingers around his throat. Physically, everything is fine, but he can’t still talk.  
  
He tries to move forward, but his body is a block of stone, refusing to act like Dean asks it to. He closes his eyes, but he can still see Zachariah, he can see the bright light of the day, but Dean is pretty sure it was night when he arrived there for meeting with dad.  
  
“Michael.”  
  
The name hits him like a whip. Dean looks at Zachariah – he really looks at him – and he sees big, fluffy wings, grey and magnificent, shining like all the diamonds in the words are concentrated among his feathers.  
  
Dean turns his head, feeling a stretch at his back. Ginormous, colour of copper, more magnificent than Zachariah’s, Dean has three sets of wings, shining like the sun is trapped there. All his feathers are big as a hand, long and tense, like they have decided to take the sky and fly away. Fuck, Dean can feel the muscles on his back, and he knows that he can actually fly with his new fucking wings. He immediately hates them. They are a sign of something which isn’t Dean’s, but belong to somebody else.  
  
“I’m Dean.”  
  
Zachariah reacts like he is being slapped in the face, his wings shiver and retracts, moving frenetic, showing confusion. “How is it – ”  
  
“Look, dick-head, I don’t have time to deal with your stupid questions. I just need to know where Sam and Cas are.”  
  
As soon as the thought of them takes shape in his mind, Dean can see them. Azazel is still in Castiel’s body and he is standing in front of the Hell’s Gates, where multitudes of nasty shadows are flying all over the world – demons, infernal creatures, monsters…  
  
Azazel is using his power to pin Sam against one of the graves. Sam is using all his strength to free himself, but it is useless.  
  
Dean has to formulate the thought:  _there_ , and he is there, in front of Azazel.  
  
“Dean!” Sam yells. “Dean!”  
  
Azazel widens his eyes, but Dean doesn’t let anymore words profane Castiel’s beautiful lips. He places a hand over Azazel head and he starts recite in Latin, Azazel screams, high and desperate, and from Castiel’s mouth and eyes comes out a bright white light. Dean trips into his words, and he finds himself that he can still do it mutely, he just needs to concentrate and he can tear the whole black crap from Castiel. Angel mojo. Right.  
  
“You son of a bitch,” Dean mutters. “This is the end, once for all.”  
  
He finishes his exorcism, and Sam is free, running towards them, while Castiel is on the ground, motionless. He’s breathing, though, and Dean feels the love for him so strong that he couldn’t think of anything else. He’s Castiel, his dearest brother, he’s Cas, his beloved.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Sam calls him again, this time with an uncertain voice. Dean has one last task to do: he stands up, leaving Castiel with Sam, and he approaches Hell’s Gates. He takes the Colt away without effort, then he feels suddenly heavy and human, made of flesh and bones.  
  
He gasps and he looks at his back. No wings. No feathers. No painful remainders of an immortal life.  
  
He is human again. For now, at least. No apocalypse. No Azazel. He lost his dad, but he has his brother back. And he has Cas, who he loves more than everything.  
  
Dean bursts into a happy laugh.  
  
  


***

 

 

  
  
  


**Epilogue**

Castiel licks Dean’s lips a little, savouring his rich taste, before he leans again to steal another, deeper and dirtier kiss. He can pass all his time just making out with Dean and still being surprised of how perfect Dean’s lips are. He entangles a hand in Dean’s soft hair, and he pushes his hardness against Dean’s pelvis, looking for more friction.

“Ewww, again?!”

Dean chuckles against Castiel's lips, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment for being caught by his little brother. He places another kiss over Castiel’s lips, while his boyfriend groans in protest, and joins Dean in glaring at Sam.

“Your glare is useless,” Sam comments. He is bringing a pack of six beers in his right hand and groceries – burgers and a salad – in the other. “You two are hornier than a couple of rabbits.”

“You’re just jealous,” Dean replies, slipping his hands under Castiel shirt and touching his smooth, pale skin, until he caresses the little scar Castiel has on his lower back, the very one he had from their latest hunt in Montana. As a proof of that, Castiel hisses a bit. Dean kisses him again. “I’m going kiss it better.”

Sam sighs heavily.

“When Sam is not around,” Dean adds. “So his prudish ears can’t hear your moans of pleasure.”

“Dean!”

Castiel chuckles. “Uhmm, I can’t wait.”

“You two deserve each other.”

Dean’s laugh is interrupted by a shiver over his skin. Castiel looks at him, immediately on guard. “Demons?”

Dean’s skin itches a little while, then it starts to tingle. The remaining angel mojo seems to be pretty useful with hunts: now Dean is more perceptive than before of supernatural creatures. He believes that his body is  _waiting_  again, but for now Zachariah appeared just once, in Dean’s dreams, to say that, even with the Hell’s gates closed, Dean is destined to let happen another apocalypse and fight the last battle on Earth. Dean showed him his middle finger, happily casting him out from his dreams.

As Castiel moves away, their amulets - one a gift from Sam’s, the other a little pentacle -, tingles together, it’s not the same sound their rings make when they clash, but it makes Dean smile. It’s their life, together, on the road, hunting and killing monsters, the family business.

“Where?”

“Not far from here.”

Family business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. Oh my, I can't believe it! This is my first Big Bang and I'm so happy that (almost) everything went okay!  
> I hope that this fanfic was a pleasant reading, because, really, I had a terrible time in upload it on LJ (no internet connection and flashdrives problems, can you believe it?). It was fun writing it, though, and I'm very proud of finish it. So, yeah, I would like to know if this fanfic was worth the trouble or not. XD
> 
> Let me say thank you to deancasbigbang's mods for organizing everything, to runriggers who corrected my mistakes and to deadflowers5, who did an amazing job ([her art](http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/106517.html#cutid1))! To sarkywoman I owe the amazing plot bunny of this AU Season 1 (yeah, I know, I've already written something like this, but I needed an angel!Dean like whoa! XD), and to koorime_yu I owe my mental stability (thanks, sweetie! You acted like an alpha reader and a cheerleader all at once! *_*).
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it! \0/


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